


I hope to go home for the weekend

by Julie_Anne



Series: The Clive papers [2]
Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Anne has good instincts, Bi!Clive and not knowing how to deal with it, Clive is really muddled this time, Complications ahead, Guilt, Heartbreak, Important cat, Important doll, Journaling, Multi, Not so platonic after all, Parenthood, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Slow Burn, The youngest is the wisest, a lot left unsaid, basic politics, happy ending of sorts, unconventional and open realtionships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julie_Anne/pseuds/Julie_Anne
Summary: Thanks for the kind request - and all the insane work it took to change the plot midway...How roaring were the twenties for the Durham couple? On one hand, not much actually. Clive is now an MP, lives mostly in London and misses his wife, his kids and his calm country life. Anne has the children to care for, and a house to run, and is interested in modern educational and schooling methods.On the other hand, though... When I researched, after being very nicely asked not to break Clive's poor heart, I found out that if I wanted a time where unconventional and open relationships were possible, the twenties were my oyster. So here it is, and much longer than I had imagined it, and to be honest, I still feel I rushed things a little.I'll certainly write a third part ofThe Clive Papers, though I don't know when. Clive is much harder to capture than those lovable boys, Maurice and Alec.  Thanks a million to the ones who kept reading.





	1. November 1924

**Author's Note:**

  * For [12XU](https://archiveofourown.org/users/12XU/gifts).



**November 1924**

_My dearest Anne,_

_I left only three days ago and already I miss you and the children, and the quietness of home. I fear now I may come to regret the decision of embracing a political career after all. I have always been a quiet person, and the knowledge that one is doing one’s duty, and pursuing the good of the many instead of one’s little self-interest is a poor substitute for home and family._

_The flat looks very nice now. The new boiler works wonderfully, and the temperature is very pleasant. Such a splendid idea! You will like to know the little room is of great use. I’m so glad I listened to you and brought young Robert with me. You were perfectly right, of course, as you always are. It simply wouldn’t do. One thing is coming to town alone, for a day or two, to see the doctor or meet a few chaps at the club, but I wouldn’t last a week without someone to look after me. And, of course, going home every weekend would be too exhausting for all of us. The present arrangement is perfect._

_Please tell me how Leslie is doing at school, and give me news of little Irene as often as you can. Although I agreed that Leslie should attend the village school for now, I’m a bit apprehensive about it. He’s so mature, so much older than his years! It has been going well until now but we don’t know how long it will last, and I’d hate to see him hurt in any way._

_I’ve been to Pippa’s for dinner yesterday. The house sounded rather peaceful now the boys are at school. Being without her brothers since September, Maud seems a normal little girl. I have the firm conviction that neither Pippa nor Archie have slept a whole night in the last year because of those boys! They look much more relaxed now. Maybe school will calm those two pests down._

_Mother asked about the children but I don’t think she wants to go back to the country. It’s too quiet for her, she says. She has a nice group of lady friends in town and is even talking about renting a small flat in the Spring, imagine that!_

_I hope to go home for the weekend before the end of the month, and I’m looking forward to it. All my love to you and the children,_

_C._

He read the letter one more time, dotting an «i» here and there, before folding it carefully and closing the envelope he had previously addressed. Robert would post it the next morning.

Clive thanked God and Anne’s advices for Robert, his young valet and driver. He had resisted as much as he dared, for he wasn’t used to having a living in servant with him at the flat. But Anne wouldn’t have it any other way:

\- You cannot be alone, Clive! You are an MP now. Who will take care of your clothes? Who will prepare your breakfast and make sure you take your medication? I wouldn’t sleep a single night in peace!

In vain he had objected. He couldn’t have a maid, it wouldn’t be suitable…

\- You can take Robert. He’s clever, he’s keen, Clarkson says he’s a gem and we all know how difficult Clarkson is to please; he knows the work, and the little room will be perfect for him.

Robert was Bayne’s younger brother, and had just started in service. Clarkson assured Mr. Durham he would train the boy in a few weeks on the finer points of town life, and there would be no trouble. It was a conspiracy, Clive thought, yet he had agreed, to please Anne. She had produced the final and strongest argument to convince him.

\- You know how much you dislike driving in London. It’s so cold already, your shoulder will probably give you trouble; and Robert is a fine driver as well.

He had surrendered and agreed to, at least, try. Now, he was glad he had done it. Robert was very efficient, wonderfully silent and discreet, Clive’s clothes were always ready, his shoes were always shining, his bath was always at the right temperature and the boy even cooked him breakfast. Mrs. Allen still came twice a week to clean and to take the laundry, but Robert took care of Clive’s daily needs. Even on Sundays, he would not go out before serving breakfast, and when Clive asked him why he did it since it was his day off, he had answered with a most solemn face:

\- I promised Mrs. Durham I’d look after you, sir. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you without breakfast.

The boy’s face and voice were so earnest; Clive had thanked him with an amused smile and decided to get up extra early on Sundays, so that Robert would not lose more of his free time.

*******

A political career. He had worked to that effect from the day he entered University. It was the family tradition. The War had only delayed it. After the War, he had delayed it further, by refusing to participate in the 1922 general election. The year after he had missed being elected by a few hundred votes. Secretly, he had felt relived. This time however he had not managed to escape. As he had written in his letter to Anne, he feared he would come to regret his decision. Parliament would open in a few days and he was already dreading it.

He looked at the three silver framed photographs he had on his work desk. From the first one, Anne smiled at him, with her new haircut and those big eyes that seemed to follow him across the room and made him feel so secure. Next, Leslie, looking very serious but with one dark curl falling on his forehead. Last, little Irene, sitting on a small chair, her blue eyes glinting under her perfectly arched eyebrows, with a mischievous smile and only one shoe. He was going to miss them all so much.

A knock on the door startled him for a moment. It was Robert coming to take away his night tea things.

\- Will that be all, sir?

He had a nice voice, rich and deep, and Clive had actually heard him humming some song in the kitchen.

\- Yes, Robert, thank you. You may go. Oh, will you post this letter tomorrow, please?

\- Certainly, sir. – and the boy carefully put the envelope in his pocket – Shall I take out the car in the morning, sir?

\- No, there is no need. I’m going out, but I’ll walk, it’s good for me. I’m having lunch at Mrs. London’s, but I’ll be home after tea. And if it rains, I’ll call a cab.

\- Very well, sir. Your room is ready for the night, sir.

\- Thank you, Robert. Good-night.

\- Good-night, Mr. Durham.

He watched as the young man went out of the room. He had a fine figure, Robert. He was still very young, of course, but he would make a very attractive man in a few years.

*******

After Irene’s birth, he had again taken to journaling, and he had registered her progress and Leslie’s growth. Now, he found it made a fascinating reading and he had brought those notebooks with him. They were the last of the ones bought before the War, small and bound in black leather.

In the months before the election, he had stopped writing; time seemed to disappear during the campaign, and when he finally sat down at his desk to write, he had to produce articles, speeches, and never got around to his personal notes. He had missed it terribly.

He no longer suffered from nightmares but he still dreaded the nights. He had trouble sleeping. He frequently woke up around 4 a.m. and knew he would not go back to sleep. He had some pills but preferred not to depend on them. When he couldn’t sleep, and the long hours of darkness stretched before him, he picked up his old journals and read.

 

> _13 th June, 1920_
> 
> _Little Irene was born today, at 3.30 p.m. It was a quick and easy birth according to the doctor, and Anne is doing very well. Irene is the tiniest and prettiest baby, in spite of her red face, and her angry frown._

Clive closed his eyes and thought about that afternoon. It had been a beautiful late spring morning, and after lunch, he had taken Leslie for a walk around the garden and the fields, trying not to think of the danger Anne was in.

\- Daddy?

\- Yes, my dear…

\- After Baby arrives, will Mummy be all right again?

Clive’s heart had skipped a beat, but he had replied in his calmest voice:

\- Of course, Leslie. The doctor, the two nurses and Martha are all with her to make sure she is fine.

\- Oh, I am glad! Mummy is always so tired lately.

Then, thank God, he had noticed the discarded eggshells on the grass under one of the birdhouses they had put up in the trees the previous winter. He crouched and carefully picked a few.

\- Look, Daddy, the sparrows had babies too!

He was showing Clive the eggshells when they saw Martha running across the field.

\- Mr. Durham, sir! It’s a girl! A beautiful baby girl!

\- And my wife?

Martha was almost out of breath, but she had managed to smile.

\- Oh, sir, Mrs Durham is fine! The doctor says it was so quick and easy like he’d never seen.

Clive carried Leslie back to the house. Martha trotted beside them, giving all the information she could think of.

\- The little one is such a sweet little thing, sir! And strong too; she screamed ever so loud! And, sir, don’t worry, Mrs Durham was having a cup of chicken broth when I left…

In less than five minutes, they were in the house and Martha had taken Leslie up to the nursery for his afternoon nap, but not before Clive had solemnly promised he would take him to visit Mummy and Baby after tea.

His heart warmed at the memory of the long summer days. He shivered at the sound of rain outside, grateful for the heating that kept his room at an agreeable temperature, and went back to the journal.

 

> _I took Leslie to see Mummy and Baby before he went to bed. He gave a big hug and a kiss to Anne and then looked attentively at his little sister and said, “Oh, you are so small! But don’t you worry, I’m bigger and I’ll be here for you!” He’s such a mature little man!_

New-born Irene, with her tiny hands rolled into tiny fists, her milky blue eyes and no hair at all, frowning as if she had been born bearing a grudge against the world. Anne, very pale and exhausted, a faint smile on her face, asking him if he was pleased with the little girl. Two-year-old Leslie, looking more than ever like a miniature Clive, very serious and solemn. The idea of spending two or three weeks at a time without them was suddenly almost unbearable.

«Tomorrow», he thought, «I’m going to order a few notebooks. I must start a new journal. It does me good to write things down. They seem less threatening when I put them in writing. Doctor Hoper was right about it. The dream journal really helped with the nightmares in the end.»

That resolution gave him a strange but welcome peace. He looked at his alarm clock. Five a.m. He felt comfortably tired and drowsy, so he set the closed notebook on his bedside table, turned out the light, pulled the covers up, and was fast asleep.


	2. November 1924 (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clive is bored. He misses home and family. He starts being haunted by unwelcome memories.

The dreaded first parliamentary session had proven just an ordinary session, though extraordinarily boring. Clive sat on a backbench and applied all his attention at first, but as the speeches became more and more dull, soon his mind began to drift to more mundane thoughts like how uncomfortable that stupid bench was, how hungry he was getting and what he would like for lunch, and even the fact that he was to pick up his new notebooks that afternoon on the way to the flat. He always thought about it as “the flat”, never “home”.

Nonetheless he felt so tired when he arrived at the flat, he asked Robert to run him a bath and instructed him to call a nearby restaurant to send in a light dinner. «Soup», he specified «and maybe some roast. It used to be quite good. And the vegetables. No dessert, please. Order enough for you too, of course.»

He put on his pyjamas right after the bath, and his warm woollen dressing gown. When he entered the room, he found Robert ready to serve him dinner and a letter by his plate.

\- Did this come with morning post, Robert?

\- Oh, no, sir. It came in the afternoon delivery.

Clive picked up the envelope and found a paper knife underneath it. He smiled.

\- You really do think about everything, Robert. Thank you!

\- Is it because of the knife, sir? It was nothing, really, just Mr. Clarkson’s teachings, sir.

When Clive looked up, he noticed the boy was blushing, which made him look even younger.

\- If you will excuse me, sir, I’ll fetch the roast now… - and he left in a hurry.

Clive suddenly realized how hungry he felt. He ate the soup. It was tasty, hot and creamy, and he felt much more comfortable after. Only then he opened the envelope.

_My dear Clive,_

_Oh, how wonderful it was to get your letter! Leslie could not wait to see it open, and Irene was jumping around the table like a little wild pony. It turned our breakfast into a rather hectic experience, but was worth every single minute of it._

_I am so very glad that you are doing well and that Robert is there to look after you. You see, I was right in the end._

_The weather has taken a turn for the colder these last few days, and I couldn’t stop thinking about your poor shoulder. Do be careful with you pain medication, Clive. Don’t suffer but see you don’t overdo it either. You know how Doctor Hoper warned you about it. I sometimes wish I could be there with you._

_Leslie is doing very well at school. His weekly reports are always good, and he’s so discreet and so nice he gets along with everyone. It is a good thing that our local school is small, so all the children know each other._

_I will worry when it is Irene’s turn to go to school, though. She is terribly clever, but she’s so impulsive and clumsy, it scares me! I think a great deal about how different our children are, and it is not because they are a boy and a girl. Sometimes I actually think it is in spite of the fact that they are a boy and a girl._

_I miss you so much, my darling! I’ll never get used to your absence, never!_

_All my love_

_Anne_

_Daddy, please come home soon. We miss you. Irene sends a kiss. Leslie_

The last line was written in a childish hand, though the spelling was flawless. After Leslie’s name there was a scribble, undoubtedly Irene’s doing. It brought tears to his eyes.

\- Not bad news, I hope, sir… - Robert was coming in with the roast dish and the vegetables on a tray. There was genuine concern in his voice.

\- No, thank you, Robert. I just miss my family, particularly the children. And I am exhausted today…

He put some roast on his plate and looked up. He met the boy’s brown eyes, warm and friendly, and Clive felt grateful for another human presence in the house.

\- I think I’ll skip coffee, Robert. Have your dinner and bring me a small Port to the study, afterwards. Please don’t hurry. I intend to make an early night but not before ten.

\- Thank you, sir.

The boy left and Clive slowly ate his dinner. Without thinking, he had ordered the exact same menu he and Maurice used to have, so many years ago, when they were staying at the flat but didn’t want to go out, and stayed in to talk, talk, talk. The mingled tastes of that almost perfect roast with the oven baked potatoes, the glazed carrots and the creamed spinach brought him back long forgotten images and sounds.

Through the closed windows he could now hear the weather steadily worsening. It was probably going to rain soon. After dinner, he sat at his desk in the study and Robert brought him the small Port he'd asked for.

\- Will that be all, sir?

Clive noticed the boy was still there. He had closed the curtains, tended the fire and was now standing a little way from him, waiting.

\- Yes, of course, Robert. I'll just put some ideas in order for tomorrow. Don't worry about the lights, I'll put them out myself. After all I used to stay here alone.

\- Very well, sir. Good night, sir.

\- Good night, Robert. Thank you.

He watched the boy leave, admired once again his fine figure and the spareness of his movements as Robert closed the door with the utmost care. When the boy's steps died away, he took a small sip of his Port and that too brought back some unexpected memory. Maurice always had a small Port with him, even if he would have preferred something else. Clive remembered how his friend had at all times been considerate in small ways like that. They were unwelcome thoughts, though, and Clive shut them away while he retrieved the parcel he'd brought from the street. New notebooks, very like the old ones, slightly bigger maybe. He resumed his old routine: he fetched a new sheet of blotting paper from the right hand drawer to use as a page marker, tried his nib on the old and already stained sheet beside him, and only then began his writing.

_Maurice,_

Ever since that first journal back in '19, he had kept the habit of adressing his friend in his journal entries. He didn't pay it much attention. Maybe it was just part of the ritual. Maybe it was his way of connecting with the past. That day, however, he paused. Why was he still adressing Maurice? Why had he ordered the special menu for dinner? Why had Clive remembered him when tasting the Port? He was rather tired, anyway, and dismissed these nagging thoughts.

_Parliament opened today. It was dull beyond description. It reminded me the first day of school without the good parts. I do hope it will become more interesting though I do not expect I'll have much to say. It will be mostly listening and learning, I believe._

_Had a letter from Anne and Leslie wrote a whole line in the end. Even Irene made a scribble to send me. I miss them all so hard it's even painful. Thank God I'm not alone. Robert is so efficient and caring without being obtrusive!_

Exhaustion was kicking in. He had been fighting it to write a few more lines, but his thoughts were getting woolly and his eyes were actually closing. He gave up, and carefully closed his notebook with the green blotting paper marking the page. He straightened up the elastic band around the cover and locked the drawer where he kept the journal. He was very secretive about his journals, even Anne knew that by now.

He put the lights out in the study and the hallway. His room was warm and the bed was invitingly open, his pyjamas carefully wrapped around the hot water bottle. There was an almost motherly care about the way Robert took care of him, he thought half touched and half amused.

The curtains were closed. He drew them back to look out. It was still raining, but it didn't have the same effect in the city. He did not recall the trenches at the sight of the glistening paving stones; there was no mud and the yellowish street lights were somewhat comforting. The muffled sound of rain that came through the windows was actually soothing, he thought.

*******

Clive woke up startled. He sat up on his bed, confused, not knowing where he was for a few seconds, and with a confuse memory of pain and noise. He hadn't had a nightmare in years, but the sensation was still familiar. He looked around and recognised the room. That settled him. A sharp burst of blue light followed closely by a rumbling noise told him what he needed to know. He had forgotten to close the curtains again and had been woken by the thunderstorm. He turned on the light and looked at the alarm clock. A few minutes after four. He knew he would probably not sleep any more, so he picked his old journal and thumbed through it to find some entry that would warm his heart.

> _20 th December, 1920_
> 
> _Irene sat unsupported for the first time. It lasted about two minutes, before she rolled on her round bottom and was sprawled on the rug laughing. We all laughed with her._
> 
> _Leslie ran to pile the cushions and help Martha sit her up again. He is such a caring big brother! We feared he might feel a little jealous but he didn't. Maybe he is too young to have that kind of feelings..._

Leaving his finger to mark the page, Clive closed the notebook and smiled remembering the scene. The warm glow of the fireplace, the bright rug where Irene was playing, Anne in a blue woollen dress kneeling on the floor to play with the children, Clarkson bringing the tea and joining the general adoration for the little ones.

Leslie very attentive and watching his little sister's slightest movement, Irene already showing her cheerful disposition and laughing at everything and everyone. It was interesting to consider how different both his children were. Leslie so precocious, so mature and quiet, and Irene so energetic, so mischievous, so funny and a bit clumsy. Oh, the quiet life at home with Anne and the children, how distant it seemed now he didn't have it! How he longed to go back...! He opened the notebook again.

> _Every night Leslie helps Martha tuck in Irene, and then he calls me to read them both a story. He shares everything with the baby, even our attention. I feel very proud of him._

He remembered writing those words. «I feel very proud of him.» The intense love and pride he felt for his children was sometimes frightening. It was uncontrollable, overwhelming, and yet he never perceived it as excessive. It felt natural, heart-warming, good. It acted as a salve when bad things threatened him, bad dreams, painful memories, bouts of anger or despair. Outside it was still raining but the thunderstorm no longer sounded. He checked the time: five thirty. It was wonderful how reading his old journals was therapeutical. He was sleepy, in a warm, comfortable way. He put down the journal and turned out the light.


	3. Home for Christmas (December 1924)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clive has a bad journey, but a very good stay. Robert is still the perfect manservant. Clive and Anne debate their children's education.

Clive woke up unusually late. He could tell that from the grey light that seeped trough the curtains. It was past dawn, so he had slept all night, and that was unusual. Sleepily he looked around and was surprised to find out he was at home. Then, in a flash, it all came back. Of course he was at home, he had travelled by car the previous day.

Slowly, the memory of the long, almost endless journey came to him. The terrible cold inside the motorcar, in spite of the fur rug, Robert's careful driving through the country roads, the Thermos bottle with hot milky tea and the bacon sandwiches he had found in a small hamper and had Robert's mark all over, the searing pain on his shoulder, strong enough to make him moan and to cause Robert to stop and retrieve his pain medication from the trunk...

The tablets! Of course! How many had he taken? The pain, he remembered now, had been excruciating. He had little memory of anything after taking the medication. He sat up feeling dizzy. He hated the after effects of the painkiller, it was one of the reasons he avoided it. He was going to feel slow and stupid all morning and would have to sleep a few hours after lunch to feel well again.

He checked the time on the clock. Eight thirty-five. «I slept twelve hours or more!», he thought. There was a light knock on the door.

\- Come in.

Robert came in with his morning tea.

\- Good-morning, sir.

He drew the curtains back, letting in the grey eerie winter light.

\- Oh, look, sir, it snowed heavily tonight! No wonder it was so cold all afternoon yesterday...! Are you feeling better, sir?

Again Clive heard the note of true concern he had noticed before in the young man's low voice. And out of the foggy remembrance of the previous evening he seemed to recall that same voice, with that same note of concern, and someone bending over him: «I'll help you,sir! Here, lean on me as much as you feel the need, sir, it's only a couple of steps! That's it, sir, just a few more... there's a step up, sir, be careful...», and then Anne's voice «Oh, Clive!» and his legs didn't hold him completely...Maybe he had dreamed it, he couldn't tell.

\- Are you feeling better, sir? - and this time there was some alarmed worry in the voice.

Clive felt a shudder and looked straight into the young man's eyes to answer.

\- Yes, thank you Robert. I'm feeling much better.

\- Oh, I'm glad of it, sir! Mrs. Durham was so worried last night when we arrived...

He was sorting Clive's clothes to take down to clean. Clive drank half of his tea, finding it strong and sweet, just the way he liked it, just the way he had it in London. Robert had prepared it, certainly, thought it was not within his duties.

\- Robert, what exactly happened last night? I cannot remember properly, I'm afraid.

The young man answered without stopping what he was doing.

\- The drive was very long, sir. You complained of the cold, sir, even with the rug and the hot tea, and then your shoulder started giving you trouble. Oh, sir, I tried to drive as fast as I could, but the roads were very muddy and you seemed to be in such pain...! So I stopped and fetched your tablets from the trunk, sir.

\- How many did I take, Robert, did you notice?

\- I did, sir, I did. You couldn't even open the bottle, on account of your shoulder, so I did it for you. That's when I figured the pain must be really bad, sir, because you asked for two tablets... When I drove on, you settled on the back seat and fell asleep, sir, so I figured you must be feeling better.

\- Two tablets?! Are you certain of that?

\- Oh yes, sir! I took them out of the bottle myself, sir. You must have been in terrible pain... - he suddenly looked and sounded scared – Was I wrong to give them to you, sir?

Clive finished his tea before answering, making an effort to sound casual.

\- Of course not, Robert. You did the right thing. The pain was so severe I could hardly breathe!

Robert had stopped, and was worriedly staring, Clive's coat on a hanger dangling from his hand.

\- When we arrived, sir, you just wouldn't wake up. I didn't want to shake you, on account of your bad shoulder, but I had to in the end, sir, and I helped you on the way to the front door... Oh, sir, you seemed to be so weak...!

The sound of Robert's voice made Clive look up to him again. The boy was almost in tears! Again he forced himself to sound casual.

\- I am very grateful to you for your help. It was the tablets, you see. They are rather strong and I usually take only half, one at the most.

He saw the young man relax and breathe deeply.

\- I'm glad of it, sir! Mrs. Durham was so distressed! Shall I run you a bath, sir?

\- No, thank you, Robert, not just yet. I think I'll go down to sort out some papers before breakfast, while it is quiet. Is the fire on?

\- In your study, sir? I think so, but I'll check right away and will tend to it if it isn't, sir...

And carrying the clothes he went out in a hurry. Clive heard his footsteps down the stairs.

«How strange!», he thought «Robert worries so much about me! I expect Anne asked him to look over me. The servants are devoted to her, of course...»

*******

When Clive came down for breakfast, his dizziness was gone and the after-effects of the excess medication had subsided to the mere ghost of a headache, perfectly bearable. The house was much colder than the snug flat, so he had chosen a warm turtle-neck jumper instead of a shirt and coat. He was going to stay indoors, maybe take just a short stroll with the children across the garden if the weather permitted it.

\- Daddy!

There was a sound of little feet running and Irene came out of the room, jumping like a bunny. Clive bent down to pick her.

\- Hello, Bug!

He called her Bug because of her shining golden-brown hair, very straight and smooth, and bobbed very short. He was the only one she allowed to call her by a pet name. Irene put her arms around her father's neck and looked him straight in the eyes before planting a sloppy kiss on each of his cheeks, leaving faint traces of raspberry jam.

\- Are you all right, Daddy? Mummy said you were ill last night, so we did pray for you with Martha while we were getting dressed. I even promised not to get my knees dirty for a whole day!

Clive smiled at the difficulty of the promise. She was wearing red overalls and a warm knitted jumper with blue and white stripes. The knees showed signs of heavy use and energetic washing.

\- Thank you so much, my love! I am certain that helped a great deal, for I feel much better already.

Another child's voice came from the room.

\- Come on, Irene! Bring Daddy in here, the stairs are so draughty!

Still laughing, Clive entered the room carrying Irene. Anne and Leslie were sitting at the table. Irene's place showed signs of her usual clumsiness, with a half eaten toast laying in a stain of jam, evidently dropped in the hurry to greet her father.

\- Good-morning, my dears.

\- Good-morning, Daddy. Are you feeling better?

\- Yes, thank you, Leslie. I'm much better now!

He deposited the little girl on her chair again, and went around the table to kiss Anne.

\- What happened, Clive? Robert was beside himself with worry...

Clive sat and poured himself some coffee before answering.

\- I think it was the cold, you know. My shoulder started to hurt so badly I couldn't even open the pill's bottle and had to ask Robert to do it. Then I took a larger dose than I usually do, and it made me so sleepy it seems I wasn't able to walk. I really don't remember much, except waking this morning in my warm bed.

He put a spoonful of jam on a toast. He felt uncommonly hungry.

\- You arrived so late! I had begun to think you had been caught by snow and would be sleeping along the way, in some pub.

\- I think it snowed at some point, and Robert had to drive very slowly for a few miles. Then, of course, he was concerned about my bad shoulder and drove extra carefully so I wouldn't feel worse.

\- Maybe in winter you should travel by train. Robert can leave you at the railway station and then drive on. The car is too cold for you in long journeys...

She was right, he had already thought along the same line. And he was sure Robert would not mind.

\- Now, children, tell me the news. How was school, Leslie? Good report?

\- Decent report, Daddy. I'll do better next term. Oh, but we were learning about squirrels and badgers, and how they curl up in their hidden burrows and sleep during the cold season! Did you know that, Daddy? I seem to remember I had a picture book, when I was small, about a fox that slept all winter...

\- So you had. You liked to build a burrow with pillows and rugs to pretend you were a fox.

\- Daddy! - asked Irene, liking bits of jam out of her sticky fingers – Do you think I could have a pet fox?

\- Irene! Don't lick your fingers! - Anne's voice was soft but firm and the little girl lowered her eyes, and took her finger out of her mouth.

\- I'm sorry, Mummy, I'll try to remember... Could I, Daddy?

\- I think not, Bug. You see, foxes are wild things and would be miserably unhappy as pets. It's not in their nature. You wouldn't like to make a fox unhappy, would you?

The girl's blue eyes widened.

\- No, Daddy. I didn't know that!

\- I'll tell you what we can do, Irene. – Anne intervened – Mrs. Julian's cat, Minnie, had kittens. I know for a fact there is a ginger one in the litter. What if I talk to Mrs. Julian tomorrow, when Daddy drives me to the village to help the other ladies with the Christmas tree for church, and you get the kitten for Christmas? They will be weaned by then...

\- And you can call it Fox. It's a good name for a cat. – added Clive.

Irene clapped her hands.

\- Can I really have a kitten of my own?

\- Yes, of course you can. But you'll have to take care of it, and that means some work. Anne, shall we take a small walk? Go get your coats and mufflers, kids.

The children ran up the stairs.

\- Don't forget your gloves! I think it's going to snow again.

As he helped Anne with her coat, Clive praised her idea.

\- The kitten was a good idea! Do you think she can handle it?

\- I think so, with Leslie's help and some supervision. She needs something to keep her busy. Maybe she should go to school next year, I don't know...

\- She'll be four in June. Isn't it a little bit early?

\- Well, I've been reading some things about these new schools, some new methods... We'll talk it over after lunch, when they are sleeping.

*******

_Pendersleigh, 20 th December 1924_

_Maurice,_

_Anne wants to hire a Montessori teacher to work in the girl's school at the village. She thinks it would be better for Irene to have a more modern kind of schooling. She is right in a way: Irene is so restless, so full of energy..._

He paused to recall the morning walk. It had been very nice. They had checked the bird feeders to see if there was still something left for the robins to eat, Irene had run almost all the way, and she had even found the time to build a small and crooked snowman with the help of her brother. They had returned home feeling invigorated though cold.

Afterwards, the kids had settled themselves on one of the sofas, Leslie reading a story and Irene listening attentively. Anne had disappeared into the morning room, for a conference with Cook about Christmas dinner, and with Clarkson about overnight arrangements, because they were expecting the Londons and Mrs. Durham on Christmas Eve. Clive had chosen a book from the library and sat by the fire, pretending to read, but in fact listening to Leslie's reading and Irene's questions.

> **“There is no doubt that the fresh, strong, pure air from the moor had a great deal to do with it. Just as it had given her an appetite, and fighting with the wind had stirred her blood, …”**

\- Leslie, what does «stirred» mean?

\- It means her blood was running faster inside her body.

\- Oh, I see, thank you.

> **“...so the same things had stirred her mind. In India she had always been too hot and languid...”**

\- What is «languid»?

\- I don't know. Daddy!

\- Yes, my dear.

\- What does «languid» mean?

\- It means slow and tired, like I was yesterday when I arrived.

\- Ah, thank you Daddy! Heard that, Irene?

\- Yes, go on...!

> **“...too hot and languid and weak to care much about anything, but in this place she was beginning to care and to want to do new things. Already she felt less "contrary," though she did not know why.”**

Funny thing how the little girl, who was such a bundle of energy, could sit so calm and attentive by her brother's side because of a story. Anne was probably right about the Montessori teacher, he thought.

_Coincidentally, I've heard a good deal about this Montessori method from some of the younger Opposition MPs, and it sounds somewhat radical but interesting. And it is true it would cost us the same to hire the teacher for Irene alone, and our little girl might benefit more from the company of other children, so I think I'll agree with Anne, as I always do in the end._

_She would undoubtedly make a better politician than many men. Better than me, I'm sure. She had it all planned, she ordered books from London, she had the contact of some Montessori trained young teachers, she has even talked it over with some other mothers that have girls around Irene's age. She thinks of everything, my Anne!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The book Leslie is reading is The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett (Chapter 8, «The robin who showed the way», and was taken from http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/Frances_Hodgson_Burnett/The_Secret_Garden/index.html, again because the book I have is a translation.  
> 2\. For those not familiar with the work of Maria Montessori, the wikipedia entry offers a good deal of information and useful links (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Montessori)


	4. January 1925

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to his London routine, Clive recalls Christmas at home. A letter and a troubling ghost from the past will begin stirring his memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hasn't been worked enough, but I'll be out for a few days, with no chance to post here, so I decided to take the risk.  
> Maybe I am progressing too slow, but I don't believe Clive is a man to rush things. Besides, it is a tricky situation, to be handled with care. So, if you are still reading, prepare to suffer. I'm sorry. But not much...

Christmas at home had been wonderful, but had also tired him a good deal. The truth was that he had grown used to his London routine, even if he missed home and his family tremendously. And neither Christmas Eve nor Christmas day had resembled any routine.

His mother and the Londons had arrived around lunch time on Christmas Eve. Pippa's boys, Henry and Samuel, Clive was certain Pippa and Archie had done their best, but although school seemed to have civilized them a little, they were still rather noisy, and both Clive and Anne agreed that Irene's kitten would only be given to her after they left, just in case. In the first half hour of their stay they had managed to smash the bird feeders, frighten the chickens and leave the coop's door open so that Robert had spent almost two hours patiently herding the poor scared birds inside again, and create such havoc in the kitchen that Cook, armed with the authority of one who had known their mother all her life, had picked them by the arm, driven them to the morning room where the adults were, and complained:

\- Begging your pardon, Mrs. Durham, m'am, but Miss Pippa, you must do something about these boys! I found this young man – and she shook Henry, the eldest – trying to fill one of my cooking wine bottles with bleach! Does he not know it is a poison?

For a few seconds there had been an embarrassed silence and then Cook had returned to her duties, and Archie had had to get extremely crossed with his boys and forbid them to leave his sight. They had no idea bleach was poisonous, and were scared when they grasped just how angry their father was. They seemed to settle down and behaved acceptably after that, but the atmosphere in the room had turned quite heavy. Fortunately, their younger sister Maud was a quiet little girl and was playing with Leslie and Irene in the nursery upstairs, under Martha's supervision.

Christmas dinner had gone well, all things considered, and the little ones had been put to bed at ten, after hanging their stockings by the fireplace, and Clive promised them he would leave a glass of Port and one of Cook's delicious mince pies for Father Christmas.

A folding bed had been placed for Leslie in the girl's room. The two older boys accompanied the adults to Midnight Mass, as their father said that not only it would do them good to ask for God's forgiveness, but would also tire them enough to ensure them a good night's sleep. As usual, they would be walking to Church and Robert and Baynes would drive them back afterwards. Since the War, Clive had decided he should go to Church on special occasions such as Christmas. He knew he was expected to.

The guests had left on Christmas day after lunch, and Clive had been glad to see them going. By teatime, when Irene's kitten had arrived, normality had returned. Only that evening he had the opportunity to talk with Anne about those two days.

\- Oh, Clive, poor Pippa! And I do believe Maudie is afraid of her brothers!

He had been left with the same impression. He had even talked to his mother about it.

\- Mother said they had good school reports, but as soon as they arrive home they get so agitated! Maybe their school is too strict, I don't know... Maybe sending boys away to public school isn't really good for some of them. It was terrible for me, I remember.

\- They are still very young, maybe it's just a phase they are going through. I expect they'll grow out of it eventually. - Anne had a generous and optimist nature.

From the nursery came the laughter of their children and a few faint meows. Then Irene's voice sounded:

\- No Fox, you cannot climb the curtains! Daddy said I must educate you, and I'll begin now. You are a cat, not a monkey, so come down!

Clive looked at Anne and they both laughed.

*******

Clive closed the door behind him and exhaled noisily, before sticking his dripping umbrella in the copper vase beside the door.

\- Mr. Durham, let me help you, sir... What a terrible weather!

Robert approached, having heard the door close. He carefully helped Clive out of his overcoat.

\- If you don't mind my saying so, sir, you should take off those wet shoes...

Only then was Clive aware of how uncomfortable he felt. His feet were wet and cold. The rain outside was so intense he was drenched from just the five or six steps he took from the cab's door to the entrance hall. Even with the umbrella!

\- Here, sir, I brought your slippers when the rain started...

At once amazed and glad of the boy's careful attention to detail, Clive saw his slippers, and not only a towel but a pair of dry socks resting next to a chair in the hallway. He sat down and changed socks and shoes, while Robert took the overcoat away to hang.

Feeling much better after having changed from the slightly damp tweed suit into some old trousers and a warm knitted coat, Anne's Christmas present, he sat by the fire in his study.

\- Will you be having tea right now, sir?

\- Yes, please, Robert. Is there any cake left?

\- Oh yes, sir, quite a lot. Between Cook and Mrs. Durham they packed us treats for at least a month, sir...

Clive smiled a these words.

\- I expect they are afraid we starve. It's a women's thing, I guess...motherly concern.

And he had his tea, with brown bread, butter, cheese, York ham, and a generous slice of Cook's fruit cake. It was comforting and the raging of the rain and wind outside made it even tastier. When he came in to take the tea things away, Robert brought him a letter, a letter opener and a small black leather jewellery box.

\- I beg your pardon, sir, but when I was putting away your things that Mrs Allen brought, I found this box at the back of the drawer... It's not one of yours, sir, is it?

It wasn't. He opened it and recognised at once Maurice's cufflinks. Two small gold lover's knots. It had been his birthday present when his friend had turned twenty two. He had completely forgotten about it. After Maurice had gone, Clive had rearranged the flat more than once but had never really changed anything in Maurice's old room, his room now. He had no way of knowing if Maurice had left them behind intentionally or had forgotten them. Maybe he thought they would be useless in his new life .

\- No, Robert, but I know who they belong to. He was a dear friend of mine back in Cambridge. He used to stay in that room when he came to town, so he must have forgotten the cufflinks. Keep them with my things, if you please. I don't expect I'll ever see him again, but if it happens I'll return them...

\- Very well, sir.

He left, and Clive forced himself to focus his attention on the still closed letter he was holding.

_My dear Clive_

_I'm glad your journey back was so quick and agreeable. The train will do better, at least while it is cold, and I felt so relieved when you called to tell you had just arrived at the flat and were feeling well!_

_Things here are as usual. Leslie is back to classes and it is wonderful to see how he loves learning. Irene follows him whenever she can, carrying Fox in her pocket, asking all the questions she can think of. Yesterday I found them all bundled up in coats, hats and gloves, and rolled up in a blanket, sitting on the front porch, poor Fox almost squeezed between them, catching snowflakes to observe with your magnifying glass and a torch. They were both so focused they didn't even hear me call for tea! I believe Leslie would welcome a magnifying glass of his own and maybe a book on science, with pictures, as birthday presents._

Clive smiled. He had shown Leslie some snowflakes through his magnifying glass during a snowfall on New Year's Eve. The little boy had been amazed at how beautiful the snowflakes were. He had to show it to his little sister. Clive could picture Irene, her blue eyes wide with awe, her small gloved hand holding a bit of snow, and Leslie explaining her everything.

«I must find him a good science book. He is so clever!» - he thought. He resumed the reading.

_I have good news about the Montessori class. Turns out the village girl's school is quite full so the Headmistress thinks it would actually be a good idea to have a class for the younger girls, under five, who will have no place in school next year. The Church has a room we can use and since most materials can be home made we (and by we I mean me and some other ladies whose little girls will be attending the class) are already working on them. I'm only going to order the ink pads and letter stamps for the printing corner, besides the paper, pencils and crayons of course. We are having so much work and so much fun!_

Clive admired Anne's enthusiasm and her ability to keep busy in a useful way. «She sounds so excited about this! I hope it is a success! Anne deserves it!»

_Knowing Robert is there makes me sleep much better; I'm not afraid you'll starve yourself, forget to sleep or go out without your coat, because I know he will not let that happen. I observed how devotedly he cared for you during your stay, and I am quite satisfied. But I know you, and I have other worries. Don't get too anxious about things you cannot control, Clive. Don't work youself up, please. I know people voted for you and you feel an obligation to do right by them, but please remember your family, think of me and the children, we need you too._

_All my love_

_Anne_

_P.S. Turn the page. There is a surprise for you._

He turned the page and found a couple of lines in Leslie's hand.

_Daddy, Irene wants me to tell you that Fox has learned not to scratch the heartrug, and now he only scratches that rope thing Robert made for him._

_We finished another chapter of the book. Mary has found out she has a cousin who has a terrible temper and we can hardly wait to know what will happen next._

_We love you and miss you very much._

_Leslie and Irene_

The last name was painfully written in very crooked and slightky smudged print capitals. Clive smiled in wonder.

*******

The rain was still drumming on the windows when Clive sat down at his desk to work. He had some things to read for the next parliament session, a few letters to answer, some notes to revise. When Robert knocked softly on the door to ask if he was going to have dinner, or just somethng light as he usualy did, he was surprised to find out how late it was.

\- Thank you, Robert, but I am not really hungry...

\- You should eat something, sir. Mrs. Durham asked me to see you wouldn't skip meals, sir...

Clive looked at him, the ghost of a smile on his face. Robert's eyes were very clear, full of concern and warmth. It made it very hard to refuse such an earnest care.

\- I could send for some tomato soup from the restaurant, sir. You like it. And I could make you an omelet. Cook taught me over Christmas, sir, she said it was your favourite when you were small …

\- Oh, I suppose it's all right then. Thank you, Robert. Oh, but do not set the table, there is no need, I'll have it here on a tray. I still have work to do.

\- Very well, sir. It will be ready in a minute.

The boy left and Clive kept his papers and took out the notebook for his journaling.

_Maurice_

_Robert found your cufflinks when he was putting away my clean underwear. I wonder what made you leave them behind. Was it deliberate? Did you want to leave me behind?_

Why was he even asking these questions? Did he care to know? Clive had come to accept that honesty to himself, if not to others, was the best way to deal with things that troubled him. So he looked at the line he had just written. No, he thought, he did not care. Maurice was in the past. He was a good memory, a cherished one, and that was all.

_If that was the case, I am glad. I'll keep them. Maybe I'll wear them sometime._

_You would like Robert. Now that I think about it, he does more or less what you used to do. There is some difference, of course, but he keeps me with my feet on the ground. He brings me to my senses with a few words. And the funny thing is that he seems to genuinely care for me, like a younger but much more sensible brother._

He was locking the drawer when Robert came in with the tray. It was all carefully arranged, with a bowl of steaming hot soup, a very nice looking omelet, some lettuce and radish salad on the side, and a slice of the brown bread he liked.

\- Thank you, Robert. This looks splendid, I must say!

The young man blushed and lowered his eyes to hide it.

\- Oh, thank you, sir, but it is nothing, really. Just doing my duty, sir... Will you be having coffee or tea afterwards, sir?

Clive had already started eating. He looked up.

\- No, I think not. I find coffee at night gives me insomnia, so I'll just retire after dinner.

Robert's voice, that had sounded a bit shaky after Clive's compliment, had regained the low and soft tone that was his natural.

\- Of course, sir. I'll prepare your room directly.

Clive ate his light supper. He was tired and he knew he would find his bed open, his pyjamas wrapped around the hot water bottle, everything lovingly prepared to make him comfortable. How lucky he was, always surrounded with people who took care of him. What more could he really wish for?


	5. February 1925

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Durham children are growing, and we can witness that. It's quite sweet. We get to know Robert a little better (or not) and begin to see where this is heading to. Or not...

Clive had been feeling a dull ache in his shoulder the whole day. He had woken up feeling it, and it had worsened during the day. Maybe it had to do with the long parliamentary session and the uncomfortable benches that strained his back and ended up making him adopt awkward positions that invariably gave him cramps. Maybe it had been the cold or the dampness in the air, he didn't know. He only knew the dull ache had grown over the day into an almost unbearable pain by the time he arrived at the flat. He had thought of calling Robert to drive him home, but the rain had gone down to a faint drizzle and he wanted to walk after having sat for so many hours.

Robert had noticed at once something was not right. Mr. Durham was rather pale and he held his right shoulder a little higher than the left, a sure sign that he was in pain.

\- Are you feeling ill, sir? – he had asked as soon as Clive set foot inside.

\- No, not really, thank you, Robert. Just my shoulder giving me a bad time. I'll change into something warmer before tea, maybe it will do me some good.

The young man's attentive eyes noticed the slight wince as he helped Clive take off his overcoat.

\- Shall I help you undress, sir?

The relief in Clive's voice was apparent.

\- Yes, please, Robert...

Robert helped him with such care it seemed he was afraid Clive might break.

\- Don't move, sir, spare your arm, let me do the moving...That's it, sir. What shall you wear now?

Clive sighted. The idea of changing into his sleeping clothes in a couple of hours almost made him sick.

\- I think I'll wear my pyjama top right away, Robert. I don't intend to go out again today and I'm not expecting any visitors. Just this once...

\- Very well, sir, you are perfectly right. I'll get it for you...

He brought not only the pyjama top but a short quilted silk dressing gown.

\- This will keep you warm, sir, and you'll still look good if anyone comes.

In spite of the pain, Clive smiled at Robert's care for his good looking. He had tea in the sitting room, where the fire was lit. There was no use in trying to write anything, as he could barely move his right arm.

He had brought his old journal from his room. If he wasn't able to write, at least he could read and remember the last years. He had some readings to do for work as well, but the next session would be in three days, and he couldn't really stomach more parliamentary jargon that day.

> 15 _th_ _April, 1921_
> 
> _Irene walked her very first unsupported steps. She has been able to stand up for some time now, and has even dared a few steps holding herself to the furniture, but these were totally unsupported._
> 
> _We were outside enjoying the sun and Martha had brought the rug so the children could play. Leslie was building something with his wooden blocks and Irene was trying to help. Then Anne called her to put her hat, and she stood, a little shaky, and walked. She walked some ten or twelve steps, and held Anne's knees with a little triumphant cry._

He closed the notebook for a while, remembering the scene. Irene in overalls and jumper, her straight golden-brown hair shining, her cheeks red from the fresh air and the sun, and her blue eyes sparkling with excitement, walking, step after step, with small inarticulate sounds of joy; and him, Anne, Leslie, Martha, and Clarkson, arriving with the tea tray, all in silence, watching.

> _«Daddy, look! Irene can walk!» Leslie was as happy as if had been his triumph. He was much slower and more cautious when he began to walk, but the truth is that he is always more careful than Irene._

«Oh, Bug!», he thought «I miss you all so much!»

> 20 _th_ _April, 1921_
> 
> _Irene's first steps were like breaking the eggshell and getting out. She can walk on her own now, straight as an arrow. She follows Leslie everywhere and always refuses his help. She can say one word, only one, but rather fluent – NO._
> 
> _They are so funny to watch when they are playing together. Leslie always attentive, always careful, Irene always rash and clumsy. Leslie was building a tower with the wooden blocks. Irene helped him willingly and in the end, as soon as the tower was complete, he smiled at Irene and said: There it is, Irene. Now you can pull it down!_

Clive had watched them play like that time after time. Soon he had noticed that each time the tower was more secure, more regular, stronger. Then he understood. Irene was not destroying her brother's work, she was putting it to test and helping him perfect it. His children worked as a team despite being so small.

*******

_**Intermezzo that may be skipped if you don't care about Robert** _

_Robert Baynes, 22, valet and chauffeur to Clive Durham Esq., M.P._

Robert was very young and had been very sheltered. He was the youngest of five children, four boys and a girl. His parents had lost two sons in the War, and the youngest had always been their baby, for he had been a late and unexpected surprise. Alfred, the third boy, had been to the War too, though he had mercifully escaped with no visible wounds, and Mrs. Baynes had dreaded that terrible War more and more as her Robert's eighteenth birthday approached.

After the Armistice, Alfred had returned seemingly unmarked, but completely different from the carefree young man she remembered. He was taciturn, morose, as if something had died inside him. It was lucky he had found work as chauffeur for Mr. Durham, a work where he could earn a fair wage and live a quiet life.

There was no family tradition of working in service, but the loss of their two boys had given the Baynes couple a deep desire to see their other children secure. So, when Alfred had suggested Robert might start working at Pendersleigh, she had welcomed the chance to know Robert in a safe place. The boy had learned to drive, knew enough about car engines to make small repairs, and had been doing odd jobs since he'd left school, a week here, two weeks there, never really earning much. After the War there were no opportunities for young men anywhere. Service was safe, indoor work. The world of fcity jobs she had once desired for her youngest, now terrified her.

Before the War, Clarkson had told Robert, a young man like him would never have the chance to become a gentleman's valet right away. It would take years of learning, and a good deal of luck. «But things changed with the War.»

He knew it had all been really luck and coincidence. It would have been Clarkson to go to London if Mrs. Durham had been able to do without him. Only Clarkson did not drive, and Mr. Durham needed a driver as well as a valet. It had been just lucky for Robert he could do both things.

Yet, he knew it was more than just luck. Mrs. Durham had called him a few days before they moved to the city, and had a little talk with him.

\- I am very glad you are to accompany my husband, Robert.

\- Yes ma'am.

\- You see, Mr. Durham is not very strong yet. You know he was wounded in the War, and his right arm never fully recovered. That is why he cannot drive for too long.

\- Yes ma'am, I see.

Anne had been very impressed with the young man. He seemed so wholesome, so mature in spite of being very young. His brown eyes were so clear and honest, his voice had such a warm tone, she felt much better with the idea that he would be with Clive. Her instinct told her she could trust him.

\- There is something else, Robert... - and Mrs Durham had sounded like she didn't really know how or indeed what to ask of the boy. Her voice was unsteady and she had hesitated.

Robert had looked up and noticed Mrs. Durham seemed exceedingly worried.

\- I will do my best, ma'am. Mr. Clarkson was very kind and taught me a great deal...

\- Oh, I am most certain you will, Robert. But I am asking you to be more than a valet to my husband. Look after him for me, will you?

\- Yes, ma'am, you can rely on me...

\- Keep him company, don't let him skip meals, see that he sleeps and eats enough, make sure he doesn't work too hard...and please see he takes care with those pills he takes for the pains!

\- Of course, ma'am... You may rest, Mr. Durham will be as comfortable as he would be at home. I'll see to that.

He had known then he was being handled a huge deal of trust. Mrs. Durham loved her husband very much, he could see that, and she had been entrusting Robert with Mr. Durham's wellbeing. He would do all in his power to show himself worthy of so much trust.

Robert was an affectionate young man, caring came naturally to him. He was clever and alert. He had learned willingly all Clarkson had to teach him, but wasn't satisfied with that. From the first day in London, Robert had set all his attention on getting to know what Mr. Durham liked and disliked, and on what he could do to make him comfortable and well. From that day on, he assumed as well that Mr. Durham was his responsibility and he had to care for him no matter where.

He took great pride in his work. Mrs. Allen, who came every Tuesday and Friday to do the cleaning, always praised him.

\- You keep this flat so neat and tidy I hardly have any work to do. Mr. Durham is very lucky to have you, I must say.

The kitchen was rather small and basic, since the flat had obviously been planned for casual stays and not for full time living, but Robert managed to cook simple dishes with the limited resources he had. Whenever they went home for the weekend, he always found time to learn something from Cook, taking care to inquire what Mr. Durham liked best.

Mrs. Allen did most of the laundry, but neckties and handkerchiefs were the object of Robert's most particular care. He was very particular about the drawers and the closet of house linens. He had brought linen sachets from Mr. Clarkson’s cupboard, after Christmas, and filled them with dried lavender and camomile, since he'd read somewhere those aromas were good to alleviate headaches and insomnia.

He never went to bed without choosing Mr. Durham's clothes for the next day and leaving them out in the dressing room to air. He'd asked Mrs. Allen for some teaching so he could press the shirts if needed. He wanted Mr. Durham to always look his best.

At first, his biggest concern had been proving himself worthy of Mrs. Durham's trust. In the process though, Robert had come to sympathize with his employer. Slowly but steadily, what had begun as sympathy blossomed into a deep fondness. He didn't know it, he had no way of knowing it, for it had never happened to him before, but he was falling in love.

*******

Reading had helped keep Clive's mind away from the pain for a while, but soon it became unbearable again. The Army doctor had warned him he would feel some degree of pain for the rest of his days. The bone had healed well but the damage to the muscles, nerves and ligaments on his shoulder had been quite severe. He had learned to live with it, and usually Aspirin was enough to ward off the pain if it became stronger.

That day, however, it had gone beyond the point where Aspirin might help. It happened sometimes. When Robert came to ask him what he would like to order for dinner, he found Clive unable to move, curling in his armchair in pain.

\- Oh, sir! Here, let me help you... Why didn't you call, sir?

Carefully he offered his arm to Clive, and felt how strongly the older man leaned on him.

\- I'm afraid I won't have dinner today, Robert. You'll have to help me to bed, I'm sorry...

\- Of course, sir, don't even mention it. I'll help you, sir.

He guided Clive to the bedroom, helped him change into his pyjama bottoms and lowered him to recline against a pile of soft cushions. Then he retrieved the painkiller bottle from Clive's dresser.

\- Give me two tablets, please, Robert.

Robert obeyed. Mr. Durham was already in bed, nothing could happen to him. He would sleep soon enough.

\- Mr. Durham, sir... I know your pain is not of the same nature, but my grandad had terrible back pains from rheumatism, and mother used to give him a hot brick wrapped up in a flannel to help with the pain. It really worked, sir!

Clive was leaning against the pillows, his eyes closed, breathing slowly. He smiled feebly, eyes still closed, remembering his doctor telling him how heat might help ease the pain.

\- Yes... – he replied in a very low and unsteady voice – Yes, the doctor told me to do something like that...

\- I can fetch a hot water bottle for you, sir. You can tuck it under your shoulder, sir, it cannot possibly harm you... I'll be back in five minutes, sir...

Robert left in a hurry. Clive reclined against the pillows once more and closed his eyes again. The tablets were beginning to work and he fell into a light sleep.

He was back in Cambridge, lying on the warm grass under the spring sun. He relaxed, breathed deeply and his lungs filled with the clean spring air. He felt wonderfully free, as if he could fly. A hand touched his shoulder, very gently, and a delicious warmth spread, comforting, soft, soothing his pain.

\- Here, sir, let me lift you just a bit... be careful... yes, there it is, sir. Better now?

He could hardly move now, but not because of his shoulder. The powerful drug was kicking in, washing away the pain, washing everything away. He answered, tripping over the words.

\- Oh, much better, thank you...

Careful hands guided him to lay down, and tucked him in, like when he was a child and was ill, and his mother actually took care of him. Or later, when he had fallen ill and Maurice...

\- Mother? – he whispered, half dreaming – Maurice?

\- It's me, sir, it's Robert!

Clive could no longer hear him. Robert sighted. He folded Clive's discarded clothes, pulled the curtains. He looked at the man, lost in the drug induced sleep, his face relaxed and vulnerable, his hair damp with sweat. He pulled up the covers making sure Clive was protected against the cold, and shifted the hot water bottle so it would keep the shoulder warm. Very tenderly, he brushed a wet curl from Clive's forehead, knowing he could not feel his touch nor hear his words. He wouldn't have dared otherwise.

\- Oh, sir, those wretched tablets! I wish I could take your pain away, sir, I wish it so much...!

 


	6. March 1925

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Physiotherapy, physical atraction and chamomile tea, aka The Plot Thikens

_My dearest Anne_

_You will have to forgive my handwriting. I've just been to my third session of physiotherapy, and in spite of the good it is doing to me, Nurse Johnson always delivers me such a beating as you could never imagine seeing how young and petite she is._

_I told you on the telephone how Doctor Hoper had recommended this new form of therapy. I am glad I chose such an open minded doctor. I didn't tell you then, mainly because I did not want to upset you, but my shoulder had been behaving very badly after Christmas. I had a couple of major crises, enough to worry my dedicated Robert._

_As I had a routine check up scheduled for the end of February, I told Hoper about it. He observed me carefully and scolded me badly for not having come earlier._

Clive paused to rest his right arm, and smiled at the recollection of his doctor's words.

\- I don't know how it happens, but politicians make the worst patients! It must be the habit of lying about everything to everybody... Look at this, you can hardly move this arm! It's a miracle you can dress and undress yourself!

Accused of being a professional liar, Clive had felt the need to avow he could no longer dress or undress without his valet's help.

\- There you have it! This is very much your own doing, Clive. It hurts to lift your arm, so you avoid it, and the more you avoid it the worse it gets. We are going to try something new this time. In America they have been obtaining some very encouraging results with physical therapy.

And he went on explaining. It was a mixture of clever manipulation, the kind that had been done for ages by village bone settlers, only with added knowledge of muscle and bone anatomy, and carefully directed exercise. The idea was to re-educate the muscles and tendons, by degrees, into getting as near to their original condition as possible.

\- It's going to hurt in the beginning, and to hurt quite a lot, but it will grow better with time.

_So now I have two weekly sessions of physiotherapy with this tiny young woman that stretches and beats my poor shoulder as if it was bread dough, then Robert drives me home and by seven thirty there is just enough energy left in me to have a light meal and read a few pages, before dozing on my armchair and being woken by Robert and led to bed._

_In addition to the therapy, Hoper wants me to have my shoulder bandaged to sleep, to avoid strain. He asked if I trusted my valet to apply the bandage, and I told him Robert is completely trustworthy. So, believe it or not, Robert had a few classes to learn and now he bandages my shoulder every night. I must say he is much more careful than Nurse Johnson_

_I'm writing this today thanks to a nice strong cup of tea. Robert actually went in to ask Nurse Johnson if I could have some light stimulant like tea or coffee to avoid my falling asleep so early. He cares for me like a mother. I must be grateful about it, really, he makes me feel as secure as if you were here with me._

_I was very glad to know the Montessori Classroom is nearly ready and hope you'll show it all to me during Easter, as I'm planing to go home to spend the Easter week. How about finding the teacher? Any news on that front?_

_I had great ideas about a long letter, but my arm cannot carry me much further, I am sorry. Give my love to the children and know I miss you all more than I can put in words._

_Yours_

_C._

Clive paused again to read what he had written. He folded the letter and closed the envelope. He thanked his habit of keeping some addressed envelopes in his desk drawer. He had grown accustomed to addressing one or two envelopes when he felt better, knowing that after writing a letter he was usually too tired to do it. Like this, he only had to ask Robert to post it.

\- Excuse me Mr. Durham, but diner is ready, sir. Will you have it in the dinning room?

\- No, thank you, Robert. I'll have it here on a tray. It's warm and comfortable, and I have some reading to do.

\- Very well, sir, I'll bring your tray in a minute.

And he left. Clive couldn't help admiring once more the grace of his movements. Robert, he thought, had the same physical elegance he'd admired in Maurice when they had first met, that indefinite radiance of health, of untouched youth, the same fluidity in the simplest motions of everyday life, walking, drawing curtains, carrying Clive's dinner tray... He was honest enough to admit, at least to himself, he found young Robert extremely attractive.

*******

Robert was glad to be able to help. He could see the therapy was doing the world of good for Mr. Durham. When he was asked if he would learn to bandage Mr. Durham's shoulder, he immediately said yes. He would be able to help ensure that Mr. Durham was going to sleep soundly and never need those wretched tablets again.

The first time he actually saw the scar, he was appalled. He had already caught one or two glimpses, but had never fully seen it. He had no idea it was so big. Half of the upper arm and almost the whole shoulder blade seemed to have been meticulously slashed with a butcher's knife and then all the pieces stuck together haphazardly.

\- Oh, sir, how could a bullet do such damage?

\- It was not a bullet, it was shell. The bone broke clean, of course, but that was the easy thing to heal. What was bad was the other part; I had some fifty odd fragments scattered on my shoulder, so the muscles were cut in I don't know how many directions. It was basically a bloody mess, and they had to dig through it to pull out all the fragments. For some days the Army doctor was almost certain I was going to lose my arm. When they let me look at it on a mirror, it still looked like mincemeat, and it was already healing...

Robert held the bandage roll and began to bandage half way between shoulder and elbow, taking extra care to keep just the right amount of tension. His hands were warm and carefully tender.

\- Am I hurting you, sir?

\- No, you are doing it perfectly, Robert.

\- Please tell me if it feels uncomfortable, sir. Nurse Johnson insisted on my asking. If it is too tight it may do more harm than good, she said.

It was almost done. He put two turns around Clive's chest to anchor the bandage in place, secured the end with a safety pin and then covered it with a piece of sticking plaster so it wouldn't come loose and hurt Clive.

\- How does it feel, sir?

Clive made some tentative movement.

\- It feels secure, shielded. It's more comfortable than without the bandage.

\- That's the main objective, sir, if I understood it right.

\- Then it most certainly works. But now you'll have to help me dress, because I cannot really move this arm.

Robert smiled.

\- That's my job, sir.

Clive felt unusually comfortable in spite of the restriction the bandage put to his movements. He was tired of waking up at odd hours because of the pain brought by simply turning around in his sleep.

\- Now, sir, just lie back for a moment. I've made you a cup of chamomile with honey. It's supposed to be calming, so it will help you sleep. It will only take a minute, sir, and then I'll help you lie down.

\- You ought to have been a nurse, Robert!

The young man blushed slightly, and smiled.

\- I'll be back in a minute, sir.

\- Robert...?

\- Yes, sir?

\- Would you mind giving me that black notebook, please?

\- This one, sir?

\- Yes, that one, thank you. I'll read for a while...

He leafed through the notebook as Robert left.

> _15 th July, 1921_
> 
> _We had a picnic lunch in the garden, with the children, to celebrate Anne's birthday. It was a glorious sunny day, the best to have sardines on toast and egg sandwiches, fresh tomatoes, cherries and apple pie, all washed down with pink lemonade._
> 
> _Irene, who has two upper teeth coming out, was happy with a raw carrot to chew for dessert. Leslie scattered very carefully all the crumbs on the front lawn, for the birds._
> 
> _There is so much peace in simple pleasures, like a picnic in the sun, cherries and apple pie, and the birds singing in the wood. I can never tire of this!_

Robert entered the room bringing a cup of tea on a tray. The chamomile tea with honey had an amber colour and a soothing aroma, and it tasted like sun and flowering fields, Clive thought. It was just hot enough to comfort him.

\- Do you wish to keep on reading, sir?

\- No, Robert, not tonight. I'm very tired...

The young man helped him lie down and arranged the covers, actually tucking Clive in like a child.

\- Good-night, sir. Ring if you need anything, sir.

\- Good-night, Robert.

The delicious warmth induced by the tea was still lingering. Clive turned out the light and fell asleep almost at once. For the first time in weeks, no discomfort interrupted his rest.


	7. Home for Easter Week (April 1925)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At home with Anne and the children. Oh, and the cat, we must not forget Irene's cat. And a visit to an old aquaintance. Yes, it progesses very slowly, I'm afraid.

Robert stopped the motorcar as close to the church as he could, and got out to help Mr. and Mrs. Durham. They were going to see the Montessori classroom that Mrs. Durham was preparing for the next school year.

\- Shall I wait, sir?

\- No, Robert, there is no need. We may take sometime to see everything, and then we'll pay a visit to the Reverend and have tea there. You may go visit your parents, after all they haven't seen you since Christmas.

\- Oh, thank you, sir. I'll be at the Rectory by five thirty then.

He started the engine and drove away. Clive and Anne, arm in arm like sweethearts, walked around the church to enter through a backdoor that led to an ancient storeroom the Reverend had agreed to lend for the kindergarten Montessori class. Anne had the keys, but before entering, Clive was intrigued by the sight of a large piece of ground all recently dug and hoed and neatly divided in four parts.

\- Gardening is one of the activities of the Montessori method - Anne explained, rather amused at his puzzled look - Our gardener will be planting potatoes, carrots and turnips, so the children may care for the plants, and then harvest them and help prepare them for a meal. The fourth bed is for flowers and each girl will have a piece to grow the flowers she prefers.

The door opened into a dark hallway, but as Anne turned the light on, Clive saw the walls had received a fresh coat of white paint and there were two other doors. Between them, he noticed a couple of shelves, both empty; next to the shelves a box, spreading a strong smell of mothballs, seemed to contain a large quantity of felt slippers. On another wall there was a row of coat hangers, carefully placed low so the little girls might reach them. There was a higher one, for the teacher he guessed.

\- Slippers?

Anne laughed softly.

\- Yes. The girls will leave their street shoes here and wear slippers inside the classroom. That will help keep their little feet dry and warm in any weather, and will also keep the room clean, so they can use the floor in some activities. Aren't they sweet? Clarice stitched them all herself! She's so energetic! I sometimes wonder how she manages to do so much with all her children to care for, and just a maid and a cook.

Clarice was Reverend Borenius young wife, a plump rosy cheeked girl, as joyful and full of life as her husband was pale and morose. Her cheerful manners and her sympathy brought much more people to church than the Reverend's lethally boring sermons. Ever since their marriage, Clarice had been delivering one child every year, with such an amazing punctuality that they all had birthdays in April. Marie, their eldest, was only two months older than Irene and would be frequenting the new kindergarten class, and so would her younger sister Emily, who was one year younger. Patrick, the next in line, was only two, David was little more than a baby and Sarah was nearly two weeks old. Clive could hardly repress a smile at the idea of the solemn Mr. Borenius in a house overflowing with children, though Anne had assured him they were all exceedingly well behaved.

Anne was enthusiastically explaining everything, and Clive had already missed some of it while thinking about the little Boreniuses. Pointing to the two rose painted doors, she was saying:

-... I though rose would be a nice choice. I know the Montessori system favours natural materials, such as wood, but the doors were so battered there was no way to make them look presentable.

She opened the left hand door. The other, Anne informed, led to the toilets.

The future classroom was ample and well lit . There was a large window with plain heavy-duty cotton curtains already in place. The floor was covered in old newspapers, for the walls had recently been painted white. In the middle of the room there were small tables and chairs carefully piled. They were old and mismatched. Anne had told him in one of her letters that the tables and chairs had been rescued from attics, cellars and even barns all over the village and surroundings. The Durhams had contributed with a couple of low bookcases and some rugs.

\- Now the children's fathers have volunteered to sand down the furniture, and with a nice layer of wax and a good polish they will look as good as new. I know you cannot help, but Baynes is going to.

It was still difficult to imagine how it would all look in the end, but Anne was so proud of her work, and had indeed worked so hard, Clive felt the need to compliment her. As she locked the door, she kept talking about what was already done and what still needed to be taken care of.

\- Oh, Mrs. Baynes, Robert's mother, has offered to take in the new teacher as lodger. The Baynes have only their daughter at home now, and she is a schoolteacher too, so Mrs. Baynes believes the girls will keep each other company. And she confessed it will be a pleasure to have young people around her again...

Anne's voice became lower and subdued.

\- She lost her two older boys in the War. Her eyes filled with tears when she talked about them, poor thing. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain...

*******

At home, and before dinner, Clive sat in his office with his journal. He hadn't written in it for sometime, but the physiotherapy sessions were really improving his shoulder enough to allow some writing.

He followed his routine with pleasure, rejoicing in the whole process.

_Maurice_

_I usually write your name at the top of the page as an old habit. Today, though, I mean it. This is a letter I would really like to send you. Where do you think I've been this afternoon? You'll never guess! To the Rectory, to meet our old friend, Reverend Borenius and - you may well gasp with surprise now - his wife and children. Yes, my dear, children, all five of them._

_I knew he had married, of course. It was all very quiet, because the bride had lost her only brother in the War and both her parents to the Spanish Flu. But it was in '19 and I cared little for such news back then. I had never even met the girl!_

_Anne and her have developed quite a strong friendship lately. She's as delightfully different from him as you can imagine. A little wisp of a woman, all red hair, smooth curves and energy. She was barely twenty-one when they married, and he was going on forty by then, but it seems like a match made in heaven. She's done wonders for that sour little man. There is even some colour on those cheeks of his!_

Clive paused to re read what he had just written. It read like a genuine letter between friends. He smiled heartily at the recollection of the visit. A young maid had opened the door and guided them to the room where the family was gathered.

The sitting room at the Rectory had lost the gloominess Clive remembered. The curtains were drawn back, letting in all the early spring light. There was a bright coloured rug on the floor where two little boys were sitting, engaged in some activity that involved a cloth bunny and a doll's bed. One little girl was nursing a doll and the other slightly bigger little girl was standing next to her mother, both of them plainly adoring the baby sleeping in the crib.

As they entered, Mr. Borenius, looking several years younger than Clive expected, was sitting at his desk, writing something with the aid of several open books in front of him, and had just interrupted to salute the visitors and proceeded to call the eldest of the girls.

\- Marie, my dear, go tell June that Mr. and Mrs. Durham will be staying for tea, will you?

\- Yes, papa, right away.

_We went there to visit Clarice and the new baby, of course, but also and above all to make the arrangements for the upcoming christening, since they have asked us to be godparents. So there you have it. Who would say old Borenius had it in him?_

Clive had been rather well impressed with the children. They were healthily noisy, their white pinafores looked spotless but crumpled from playing, and they were all well behaved although not frighteningly so. They all appeared to have inherited in just the right measure a happy mixture of their mother's lively energy and joy of living with their father's austere demeanour. Only Marie and David had Clarice's red hair. Patrick was very blond with blue eyes. «My late mother's image!» had Mr. Borenius informed, with a doting expression Clive had never imagined he would be capable of. Little Emily was a miniature of her father, except for the glint of mischief in her dark eyes. As for the baby, she was all pink, with no hair to speak of and milky newborn's eyes.

\- Daddy!

Irene stormed into the office. Behind her, her small ginger cat, Fox. Leslie followed laughing.

\- Hello, Bug! You gave me a fright! Come here, both of you, give me a kiss!

Irene climbed to sit on his knee. Fox climbed the other leg to sit precariously on the other knee. Leslie stood by his father's chair.

\- Daddy! Can I write my name on your book? I've been practising very hard...

\- Of course, my love. Not with my pen, though, it's very big for your hands. Here...

He gave the little girl a pencil and watched as she wrote her name in print capitals. Irene's face was very serious, she had a slight frown, and the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

\- How wonderful, Bug!

The letters were almost perfect. She smiled at the compliment and jumped to the floor.

\- Now you have my name on your book, Daddy. When you are in London and miss us a lot, you can look at it and remember me.

\- I don't need to look at it to remember you, Bug. But I like to have it here anyway.

Another smile rewarded his words.

\- Daddy, can I leave Fox here with you? - she asked.

Clive picked up the small cat.

\- Yes, of course. But why?

\- Robert is taking us to the coop to fetch the eggs. Mummy asked him to... Only Fox cannot come, the chickens are afraid of him, because he's a cat. Come on, Les!

The children left running. The cat tried his best to get out of Clive's hands, but he held him and closed the door.

\- Fox, old thing - he informed, putting the cat back on the floor - We have to keep each other company for a while. There's chickens involved, you see...

Fox jumped in a brave but completely failed attempt to reach the door knob and uttered a faint meow. But since Clive showed no inclination to let him out, the cat proceeded to explore the room where he was seldom admitted and was so full of all kinds of interesting smells.

Clive resumed his journaling. The half written page now sported Irene's name right after his last words.

_IRENE_

_My daughter wrote this here to show me she could do it. And, she added, to help me remember her, as if I needed to be remembered of her existence!_

_It is such an overwhelming experience, to have children and to watch them grow. Absurdly, against all odds and all logic, I hope you will be allowed such an experience. I am pretty certain you would make a good father._

 


	8. April 1925 (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very boring tea party and surprising news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this is going to be much longer than I expected. Falling in love is a process, and Clive is someone who has to think things over for a long time. I've written the last two chapters, but the middle 3, or 5 or 12 are still putting up a fight.

_Maurice_

_I had news of you. At least I can presume that, though indirectly, they referred to you too. They were good news, and I'm glad of it. Even if they were brought to me by Reverend Borenius..._

Little Sarah Anne had been baptized the Sunday after Easter. A quiet ceremony, with only the family, which in Clarice's case meant her maiden aunt alone, and the godparents. Anne had insisted in offering her god daughter a pretty lace bonnet to match the beautiful christening dress that had belonged to Mr. Borenius' mother and had been used by all his children.

After the service, Baynes and Robert had driven the small party to Pendersleigh, where Anne had prepared a festive tea to commemorate the occasion. The children had played together, while the adults talked over cups of tea and slices of walnut cake.

Patrick and David placidly played with building blocks under Martha's supervision. Sarah slept in her pram, holding in her tiny fat fist her christening present from her godparents, a lovely silver and ivory rattle. Irene and Emily ran around the garden, skipped rope around the flowerbeds, and played hide-and-seek with Fox, stopping only to run to the table and fetch a slice of bread and butter or a biscuit. Leslie and Marie, after quietly having their glasses of milk and their pieces of cake, had spent the rest of the afternoon sitting under a tree, their heads bent close together over _The Wonder Book of Nature for Boys and Girls_ , so absorbed and silent that Clive had gone looking for them at some point.

The adults had talked about little village gossips, the new Montessori classroom Anne was so keenly working on, the weather that had been so lovely for the past fortnight; the mothers had told little anecdotes of their children's behaviour, Miss Bishop, Clarice's aunt, had praised the children's healthy look, and Clive had slowly let himself slip into his own thoughts.

_The man is still every bit as boring as he's always been. Even the sound of his voice induces sleep. So, to be honest, I wasn't paying much attention to the conversation._

After tea, the ladies had gone for a little stroll in the garden, to admire Anne's early roses and the beautiful wisteria. Suddenly, Clive had caught a name spoken in Mr. Borenius' voice, mid-sentence.

\- ... he was called Scudder, am I right?

Clive had looked at him, blankly.

\- I am sorry. I was distracted and didn't really catch the beginning of your sentence... - he apologized.

Mr. Borenius had smiled, refilling his teacup.

_Scudder. I could swear he had said Scudder._

\- I was trying to confirm the name of a young man that worked here as under gamekeeper, right before the War. I believe you will recall the man I am talking about. He was to emigrate to the Argentine, and then he missed his boat and vanished from the face of the earth.

Clive had silently thanked he did not blush easily, and answered in a perfectly controlled voice.

\- Yes, I remember him. Scudder, you are right about his name.

Mr. Borenius hadn't been able to avoid a smug look. He drank half of his second cup of tea, and proceeded.

\- I remember distinctly the day he missed the boat. I was there, you see to try to make sure he might be Confirmed on arrival...

_He started to blabber again. All I wanted was to know what he actually had to tell about Scudder and hence about you, and the man wouldn't say! Oh, I could have killed him!_

Clive had nodded, silently. Already his attention was fleeting, curse the man, how boring he was! The women's voices approached once more, as they sat back on their chairs, now conversing about the beauty of nature.

\- That nice friend of yours was there too, what was his name? Mr. Hall, yes! Very decent of him to take such charitable interest in the boy... Then, of course, I heard he had been doing voluntary work for some mission, in town, and it all became clear.

He had looked around to ascertain himself they wouldn't be overheard either by the ladies or by the children, before lowering his voice to a whisper.

\- God forgive me, but when I was told your friend had disappeared around the same time, I went as far as suspecting some unnatural attraction between them.

Clive had had to summon all his strength not to react. Damned be the man! And the vicar had kept on talking.

_I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard those ominous words. An unnatural attraction indeed! Do you think he knew it all this time?_

\- But then Mrs. Durham, your mother, informed me right away he had made some unfortunate investments, so I figured he probably had gone to America, or the Colonies. Totally unrelated to Scudder vanishing, I dare say.

_Here I was incapable of producing more than a few senseless sounds, and be grateful he likes so much to hear himself talk._

\- Well, I had the most surprising news of Scudder's whereabouts, quite by chance.

Clarice, Anne and Miss Bishop were engrossed in a conversation about pinafores and cloth dolls. Mr. Borenius talked on. Clive had made a titanic effort to focus his attention, for Mr. Borenius always gave so many details and side information, he usually stopped listening to him after a few seconds.

\- My second cousin, Lieutenant Harmon from the Royal Navy, has been posted to a ship in Malta for some four or five years now. He had just been married when he received his commission, so naturally he took his wife with him and they rented a house in La Valletta.

La Valletta, Clive thought. Malta, that was in the Mediterranean, an island wasn't it? He thought of blue cloudless skies, warm weather, blue sea, his attention drifting. The Reverend's monotonous voice was still sounding.

\- We were rather close in our youth, although he is younger than me. He came to England last winter and we met in London. We were exchanging news about the last years, and when I told him Clarice was expecting, he told me about his child and the extraordinary circumstances of his birth.

Would it never end? Was he going to tell all the details of the poor woman's labour? Where exactly did Scudder fit among all that senseless gibberish?

\- A couple of years ago, when he was out for some secret military reason he wouldn't discuss, his wife, who was near her time, began labour a few weeks earlier than had been predicted. Being alone, she went to a small private clinic to have the child. There, and here is the surprising note, beside the obstetrician, she was accompanied by a male nurse.

Clive had just managed to avoid a gigantic yawn he felt forming.

\- She was naturally surprised, and even somewhat suspicious and ill at ease to see a man in that role, so she remembered his name. It was Scudder. Well, I am aware that Scudder is a common enough name, but the description seemed to match. Short fellow, dark hair, brown eyes, in his late twenties, working class accent. And the unorthodox choice of occupation, it seemed to fit with the man I remembered. What do you think?

Clive thought a lot of things, none of them remotely appropriate for a talk with the Reverend. He had muttered a few platitudes, pretending to remember very little about Scudder.

_So if you are still with him, you are in Malta. Are you a nurse too? Was that how you both survived the War? You would make a fine nurse, I think. I still remember how careful and kind you were during that awful illness of mine._

A discreet knock on the door announced Robert with his night tea. He had gotten used to the chamomile with honey, and he found out that it helped him digest and soothed him down. As he set the small china teapot on the little round table next to the armchair, Robert's hand deliberately brushed his. Clive felt it like an electric jolt, but did not pull away at once.

\- Oh, I'm sorry, sir... - the young man said, but his smile said otherwise.

That night, Clive was half surprised to notice Robert was more careful and tender than usual in bandaging his shoulder. He couldn't sleep, so he turned the light on again and opened his old journal to read.

> _8 th August, 1921_
> 
> _Leslie fell down from the big oak tree in the wood. He had climbed to put up one of the birdhouses we had been repairing, but he failed to put his foot on a branch and fell down. He seemed to take such a long time to hit the ground, and still I was unable to hold him before! I felt so powerless!_
> 
> _He has a few bruises and a sprained wrist, but his first thoughts were of concern for his mother and me. «I am fine, Daddy!» he kept saying «It doesn't hurt, tell Mummy it doesn't hurt at all!»_

 

His heart was beating faster at the recollection of the accident. He remembered Leslie sitting on his bed, his small wrist tightly bandaged and a piece of sticking plaster half covering a bruise on his forehead, smiling valiantly and petting Anne's hand. «It was nothing, Mummy. I'll be as good as new by the end of the week, you'll see...»

«Heavens», Clive thought «What a day!» Carefully, he opened the pill bottle and took out one. Then he filled a glass with water from his night table bottle, and drank it with the tablet. He wouldn't sleep otherwise. Damned Mr. Borenius!

_�_

 


	9. May 1925

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwelcome invitation, a nice dinner party and a disturbing night. From now on, things are going to be complicated.

May 1925

Clive was dressing for dinner. He had had an invitation from a friend of his mother's. He had been to the Londons for tea two days ago, and if regret could kill he'd be dead. He had expected a quiet afternoon tea with the family, and had found himself submersed in a turmoil of noisy people, loud music, and the most foolish conversations he had heard in years.

There were three of his mother's lady friends, including the incredible lady she now shared a flat with, a large and rather Wagnerian widow, Mrs. Langton, she addressed to as Tilde and who was in fact half french. There were the seemingly uncountable daughters and nieces of the said ladies and an army of young men who had apparently followed them.

After ten minutes, Clive had been introduced to a dozen young women he knew he would never be able to recognize again, or to say which was Melly, Lilly, Dally, Winnie or Emmie; had been pronounced «delightful», «awesome» and even «spiffing»; was feeling the beginning of a serious headache and had been rescued by Pippa, and taken to the smaller room where the mothers were having their tea, leaving the young people to laugh and dance.

There, of course, though it was calmer, the talk was still annoyingly futile. When he arrived, the topic was hats, it had then evolved to the appropriate length of dresses and progressed to how difficult it was to maintain a good cook. By then, Clive's suffering had became so patent his mother had exclaimed with a small laugh:

\- Clive, dear, you look like a drowning duck!

He tried to at least look normal.

\- I'm sorry, Mother, I am a terrible company today. I have a bad headache; I left the session earlier because of it and was only coming to say hello to you and Pippa, as I'll be going home for the next weekend. I didn't know you had a party, or I wouldn't have come.

Mrs. Langton let out a piercing shriek.

\- Oh, but you mustn't! Letty will be hosting a wonderful dinner party next Saturday and we are a man short. You simply cannot deprive us of that fine figure of yours, Mr. Durham. Why, my own cousin Isabelle is staying in London for the season and has no escort, you will not refuse me this little _gentillesse, n'est ce pas_?

Clive had drank half of his cup to ward away the sickness. His head felt terrible, but he had actually managed a feeble smile.

\- I am a married man, Mrs. Langton, it wouldn't be suitable, I'm afraid...

\- Oh, you are so _démodé_ , Mr. Durham! You simply must come! It is of course a pity your lovely wife isn't staying in town with you, but you shouldn't let that stop you! Men get so crabby when they are alone!

Mrs. Durham had answered for him.

\- Oh, Clive has turned so very serious since the War! Do you know, Tilde, he actually misses the country? He's always running home to Pendersleigh when he has the chance!

\- _Mais ce n'est pas possible_! A young and handsome man like you...!

\- I can hardly be considered young any more...

In the end he hadn't been able to escape the invitation. He had arrived at the flat with a splitting headache and had needed a hot bath, a cup of chamomile and an Aspirin just to be able to lay his head on the pillow and try to sleep. Robert had put a few drops of lavender oil on his pillow to help soothe the pain and Clive had fallen asleep mercifully quickly.

Still, he had had to telephone home and disappoint the children by informing he would not be going home for the weekend after all. And he had to go to the cursed dinner party to escort Cousin Isabelle, whoever she was.

Anne had laughed over the phone at his complaints.

\- Oh, poor Clive! You never could say no to such things! At least try to have some fun, my dear... Who knows, maybe Cousin Isabelle is nice! Ask Robert to pick you up early. Give them any excuse you can think of.

\- It's a terrible nuisance! I was so looking forward to a quiet weekend at home! I'll miss you immensely!

\- We will miss you too, darling! See you don't tire yourself too much, will you? We'll be expecting you next weekend instead.

He had left the flat at half past seven, looking rather handsome in his dinner jacket. Robert had given his clothes a quick press and had pronounced him «perfect» with a smile that had given Clive a strange but rather pleasant heat in his gut and an immense desire to stay home.

In the end, he had not hated it as much as he had anticipated. The food was very good, the wine was excellent, Cousin Isabelle was a charming widow in her forties, and had appreciated that Clive had at least tried to speak French, though, as she put it, laughing, they had ended by speaking some kind of Franglish. The music wasn't bad. He preferred the calmer side of jazz, but then again he did not dance. He had escaped from joining the older men alluding to his duties as Isabelle's escort and had a nice time with her and some of the young people's mothers, talking about his children and schooling methods and the modern classroom Anne was working on, while his own mother and her group of friends gossiped mercilessly.

Still, even having fun, he spent the whole evening desperately wishing for the time to pass. He wanted to go home. For the first time, he thought of the little flat as «home». Every five minutes his eyes drifted to the clock on the mantelpiece. Hours seemed to stretch like rubber. As he was leaving, at midnight, he had overheard some young girl answering a friend, who was pointing shamelessly at him.

\- Oh, the son of a friend of Auntie's. He was wounded in the War, or shell shocked, I don't know for sure. I know he is really old, and quite a wet blanket, but he's such a bunny, the poor dear!

He was still laughing when he entered the car. Not knowing if being «such a bunny» was good or bad, it still made him laugh. He had had too much Champagne, he thought. He felt dizzy and light-headed. Robert's hand was wonderfully warm and steady helping him into the car.

\- Had a nice evening, sir?

\- Yes, thank you, Robert. Although I'll almost certainly have a headache tomorrow. There was loud music and Champagne, two things that are bound to give me migraine...

\- I'll make you a nice cup of tea when we arrive, sir...

\- I'll be terribly grateful...

The drive home was quick and uneventful. They entered the flat together, since there was no back door. Their gloved hands touched when they both reached for the doorknob at the same time. Clive felt it again like an electric jolt, and looked up to find Robert's brown eyes shining. The young man turned to close the door behind them with one swift move, pinning Clive to the wall with his other arm. The flat was dark and none of them reached for the light switch. Slowly, deliberately, Robert bent and kissed Clive. Just one soft albeit hungry kiss. Then he whispered «I'll go park the car, sir, be back in a minute...» and left, leaving Clive alone, leaning against the hallway wall in the dark, heart drumming like mad and not knowing what to do next.

*******

Clive was waking up. He could feel himself emerging from sleep. Stubbornly, childishly, he refused to open his eyes, to leave that state of blissful warmth and perfection. If he could keep his eyes closed, he could pretend morning would never arrive and he would never have to leave the safety of his bed.

Robert was still there, and still deeply asleep. Clive couldn't see him, but he could feel his presence, his warmth, Robert's body spooning his, his hand protectively encasing Clive's bad shoulder, the soft tickle of his hair. He could smell him, soap, lavender and honey.

Clive didn't want to wake up and break the magic of the perfect night. If only it could last forever! He remembered every single minute, every kiss, every touch, every word. He had felt no fear, no shame, no doubts. There had been only Robert. Robert's hands, Robert's mouth, Robert's voice whispering in his ear, Robert's legs coiled around his.

Robert had walked back from parking the car, and found Clive in the same place. He had helped Clive out of his light overcoat, led him to the bedroom and helped him undress, always as carefully as if he was afraid Clive might break. He had then left him laying in bed and gone to make a cup of tea, as he had promised.

Clive was feeling light-headed and warm. He drank his tea, that was strong and sweet, and had given the empty cup back to Robert. Their hands had touched again. After that, it was difficult to remember everything. The clinking of the cup as Robert had set it back one the table, Robert's hand cradling his head as he bent down to kiss him once more, Robert's soft voice whispering in his ear...

\- Do you really want to, sir? We don't have to if you don't want...

Clive had not been able to say the actual words, but he had pulled Robert closer. He wanted, he knew he wanted it badly. Then they had kissed, and touched, and moulded their bodies into each other as intimately as two lovers could. Clive could find no other words to describe that night. By any other words it would sound gross to him, and it had been anything but. Such flawless bliss! They had dozed, and woken, and kissed again, laughed together, and all through that time Robert had been fiercely protective. Even now, in sleep, he still had his hand carefully cupping the scarred shoulder.

Clive lay very quiet, barely daring to breathe, afraid of breaking that cocoon of absolute happiness. Even so, he could feel each second slipping away, bringing nearer the moment when it all would change. Then, Robert stirred, breathed deeply and whispered in his ear:

\- Good-morning, sir.

He kissed Clive's scar and propped himself up to look at the man's face.

\- I know you're awake, sir! I've watched you sleep, sir, and you breathe differently when you are asleep... - and he laughed. His laughter was like light.

There was no use in pretending. Yet Clive kept his eyes shut. Robert stretched, sat up and got out of bed. He picked up his clothes, bent to kiss Clive's face and went out. Only then Clive opened his eyes. The room was almost dark but he could see thin strips of sunlight under the curtains.

It was Sunday, he could stay at home. That was a good thing. Clive was certain that every one who looked at his face that morning would know, though he knew that was impossible. He felt pleasantly worn out, but had no headache and his shoulder felt fine. He stretched lazily and laid back, inhaling deeply. Robert's smell lingered on the left side of the bed.

A familiar knock on the door brought him back to reality. And reality was Robert, shaved, perfect, impeccably dressed, carrying his breakfast on a tray.

\- Oh, Robert, why did you...? I could have got up!

The young man smiled. He set the tray on a small table and opened the heavy curtains to let the sun in.

\- It's Sunday, sir. You ought to rest. Remember you came in late last night. And remember the Champagne and the loud music. And I forgot to bandage your shoulder last night...

Slipping into his pyjama bottoms under the bed covers, Clive felt himself blush as he retorted.

\- So you did. I didn't even notice...

Robert helped him with his dressing gown. As he untwisted the belt before tying it, he put his arms round Clive's waist and kissed his neck.

\- Robert...

Robert looked at him, his eyes extremely serious.

\- I know, sir. I must never grow overconfident. I know that, and I'll never do it again. Just let me this once, sir... I know my place. There is no danger. It was just this once. - he pronounced these harsh words in a sweet, affectionate tone and he left the room.

Clive hadn't meant it like that, but deep down he knew the young man was right. How beautiful he was, how loving too, and how perfectly sensible.

 


	10. May 1925 (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after. Clive goes back to his journaling, to try to put some kind of order to his feelings. The result is messy... Yet, he is lucky enough to have wise people around. So things are more or less settled. For the time being...

Clive screwed his eyes shut. The notebook lay open on the desk and he was holding the pen, but what he was about to write was so tremendous he had to summon all his courage.

_Maurice_

_I'm in love. I'm so hopelessly in love it hurts._

_There is no one I can talk to, except for him. So I have to write it here, even though it is so dangerous. I have to put it in words, you know me, I have to think in words, to write them down, to rationalize over them. Sometimes I wish you were here. You were someone I could always talk to, and I miss that now._

He stared at the few lines he had just written, in awe. Then, he thought about Robert. Not the young valet in his spotless coat and not a single hair out of place, not the handsome young chauffeur in his bottle green uniform and cap, but the young man with rumpled brown hair and not a stitch of clothing on, that had fallen asleep with his arms around Clive that very same night. The young man that called him «sir» even in the most intimate of situations.

_I didn't know it could be like this. I didn't know it could feel like flying, and drowning, and dying, and coming back to life all at once._

Being in love with Robert was so stimulating. His mind was working as fast as the wind, he was thinking a million things and his hand was flying over the page, and the words were flowing out of his pen as if of their own accord.

_Do I love him more than I loved you? I do. I did not hesitate, I did not run from him, I did not ward him off the way I did you. I've grown older, if not wiser._

_We were so young! I was so stupid and self righteous! I recall every pompous thing I said back them and could almost die of delayed shame. All that blabber about platonic relations and social inferiors, what could have crossed my mind?_

_Platonic? Hang platonic! There is nothing platonic in my relationship with him, unless you call platonic to the beauty of it._

_As to social inferiors, oh Maurice! What does that mean? Of course he is about as young as we were back then, but he is so much wiser and more mature! Maybe the fact that he's had to work since an early age helped him. Does that make him inferior? Not to my eyes!_

Clive heard himself softly but audibly mumbling the words he was writing down and he paused. Was he going mad? He gave a short, low laugh, and murmured «Oh, what is the matter with you, Clive Durham?» Then, he bent over the desk and wrote.

_I feel so..._

He stopped, his pen suspense in his hand. What was he going to write next? No word seemed to fit. _Confuse?_ No, he knew exactly what he wanted. He loved Robert, and he loved Anne and the children. _Lost_? Not at all, he knew exactly where he stood. _Scared?_ No, definitely not; maybe he ought to, but he wasn't. _Ashamed_? Ridiculous, he felt no shame, none whatsoever. _Surprised_? Yes, a little, but not enough to count. _Alive_? Yes, if he felt anything out of the ordinary, alive would probably do. _Feverish?_ That was more like it... He completed the sentence with the perfect word.

 _I feel so feverish_!

_If you were here now, I can imagine your smile, and your voice, and your words. I know you would be happy for me. And you would be sensible, calm me down, and set me straight with a couple of wise words._

Clive was thinking so fast he had to stop writing. What now? He had acted upon his feelings, his deepest desires, the ones he believed he had suppressed long ago. They were still there after all. What followed?

_You won't believe it, but I wish I could confide this to Anne. She would help me see clearly. She always does._

He paused again. Only after seeing it written, he recognised it as true. If only he could ask Anne! He loved her no less after admitting he loved Robert. What did that make him? Some kind of monster? Didn't he have to chose? Keep Anne his children and let go of Robert?

_I know it cannot last, I know it will have to end, and end soon. But not yet. Not just yet, please..._

He knew he was acting like a silly lovesick boy. Besides everything else he could not resolve nor avoid, it was terribly unsafe. No matter how careful they were, a single slip might destroy their lives. He cared nothing for his own, but he wouldn't have Robert's life wrecked. And then there were Anne and the children, and Robert's parents who had already lost two sons.

_Sometimes, in these last few hours, I've thought to myself «What a mess I'm in!», but it's the wrong word. Nothing is a mess, not with my Robert. With him everything is neat, planned, clean and smooth._

He reclined back in his comfortable chair and closed his eyes, remembering the previous night. It came back to him like a dream, in disconnected flashes, the scent of Robert's skin, the warmth of his hands, the smooth touch of his lips, the sound of their joint breaths and loose words in Robert's voice, the bedclothes tangling around their legs and the delicious drowsiness that followed.

He read again the last paragraph. His eyes were caught by four words.

_Not with my Robert._

It looked so intimate. _My Robert_. Was he allowed to write that, to think that, to say that?

\- Mr. Durham...?

A discreet knock on the door and a soft voice brought him back to reality.

\- There is a gentleman on the telephone for you, sir. Shall I say you're out?

Robert looked every bit as impeccable as he always did.

\- No, Robert, I'll see who it is, thank you. - he stood up, closing the notebook, and pressed his fingers to his temples.

\- Are you feeling all right, sir?

Clive smiled. The concern in the boy's voice was perhaps the usual one, but he felt it different, warmer, more tender. His Robert...

\- Yes, thank you, Robert. I'll see to the phone, then...

It was some tremendously serious young MP inviting him for a tremendously serious talk over a drink at his club that same evening. He agreed though he felt like strangling the man through the phone wires.

\- Anything wrong, sir?

Robert was looking at him, that anxious look in his eyes.

\- No, Robert, just work. I'm dinning out and will be arriving quite late, I'm afraid. You'll better not wait up.

\- It's Sunday, sir. The car should work more often, sir; engines are like that...! Mrs. Durham would never forgive me if I let you come home alone on a Sunday night...

\- You're right, of course. I'll have the perfect excuse to shorten the talk, thank God!

\- Shall I drive you there as well, sir?

\- No, thank you, Robert, there is no need. I'll walk, it's good for me, there will be still plenty of daylight by then.

\- Very well, sir. Shall I warn you when it's time to dress?

\- Yes, please. Robert. I'll just do a bit more of writing before tea...

He returned to the office and to the journal he had left open on his desk. He reread the whole page. Oh, how messy it read! But, oh, how much lighter he felt after having written it all!

*******

The following weekend, Clive went down to Pendersleigh. Robert did not.

\- I'd better not, sir. You'll be more at ease if I'm not there.

He didn't sound angry, or sad, or disappointed. He sounded his usual self. Clive admitted that maybe he was right. He was almost always right, Robert.

The train arrived on schedule, Baynes drove him home, Anne and the children were delighted to see him. The dinner was wonderful and he ate with a healthy appetite, he slept like a baby and in Anne's room too.

He spent a great Saturday with the children: they had a long walk in the wood, Leslie showed him the blackbird's nest he was so carefully protecting, Irene bragged she could now skip rope counting up to one hundred, and she proved she could do it. Anne had a picnic lunch waiting in the front garden, with cold chicken sandwiches, fresh tomatoes from the hothouse, lemonade and bread and butter pudding for dessert. Fox, who had grown quite a lot, chased the sparrows that were coveting the crumbs, and nearly caught one.

In the afternoon, he sat on the sofa and read a story to the children. At night, Anne looked at him and asked with a loving smile:

\- What happened to you to make you so happy? How wonderful it is to see you like this!

\- I don't know. - he lied. And he added, truthfully - It's a fine day, I had a fine walk and a good lunch. I missed you all so much, I'm glad to be here with you...

Sunday, after lunch, Baynes drove them all to the station. Anne kissed him good bye with a smile, and the children waved until they lost sight of the train, screaming:

\- Bye, Daddy! Don't forget to give our love to Robert!

Clive sat back on the train and sighed. He had been home and it had felt good. He loved Anne, he had no doubt about that. It had been good to be with her, he had felt no shame, no guilt. He was longing to arrive, to close the flat's door and to kiss Robert. His Robert, who had known the right thing to do in staying behind that time. Maybe there was trouble ahead, Clive thought, but he would face it when it came.

 


	11. June 1925

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clive is confused and Robert is the most sensible young man ever.

Robert had stayed behind again for two very important reasons. First, he was certain that Mr. Durham would feel much more at ease if he went to Pendersleigh on his own for the time being. It would be undoubtedly awkward for him to meet his wife as it was, he didn't need Robert standing behind him, carrying his weekend bag, to make it twice so.

Second, he had to do some serious thinking. As he had found out that he could do better thinking if he was working at the same time, he threw himself wholeheartedly to the kitchen. He put on his black apron, rolled up his sleeves and began by washing every pot and pan in the house.

While his hands were busy with the scrubbing, his mind was at work. What could he do to make Mr. Durham feel better? He had seemed so troubled in the morning, before Robert had left him at the railway station. They were living in an enchanted cocoon, together in the little flat, quite discreetly. Clive had no friends in town, had next to no visitors and seldom went out. Yet, Robert was no fool, and he knew it was a dangerous situation. The slightest slip might ruin Clive's career and life. Of course Robert would rather die than harm Mr. Durham or his family. He knew Clive was devoted to his wife and children, it was one of the many things he loved about Clive. He felt no jealousy, no resentment, and he knew it was possible for a man to love his wife and children and to love another man. It had to be. He had heard all kinds of things from his older brothers and their friends. If only he was able to find the right words to put it...!

By the time he finished, it was past dinner time, the kitchen was gleaming, every pot and pan shining like silver, and even the simple glassware he used for his meals shone like first rate crystal. Robert went out for a slice of meat pie and a pint. Back at the flat, he showered and slept on Clive's bed. After all he had been sleeping there for the last few weeks, and he did miss Mr. Durham. Sleeping on his bed, he had at least the illusion he could smell him, as he laid his head on Clive's pillow.

He woke up at six, as usual, his arms wrapped around the pillow and his heart pleasantly heavy with longing. He had a good breakfast and after that, his apron tied over his pyjamas, he began cleaning Clive's bathroom with all his energy.

He would have to draw Clive's attention to the fact that a good percentage of his fellow MPs lived in town during the week with only a manservant, just as he did. As far as anyone could see, there had been no change in Clive's situation. There was no motive for fear or even discomfort. Robert would be as scrupulous as he had ever been in fulfilling his duties. He liked taking care of Mr. Durham. The only visible change was that Clive looked happier and healthier that he had looked since the War, and that wasn't the kind of thing men noticed. A woman might, but how many women were there in the Parliament? One or two, at the most...

By lunchtime, every surface in the bathroom was blindingly spotless and Robert was tired and hungry. He had a sandwich, a cup of strong tea and some fruit for lunch and then began cleaning the office. As he carefully dusted each book, he kept thinking. He liked Mrs. Durham. She was kind and sweet, and had trusted him with what she deemed most precious, her husband. Maybe she would notice something different. Robert remembered his mother saying a woman could guess almost anything about her husband or her children, so Mrs. Durham might sense something. Still, he trusted she wouldn't harm them.

During the first months of their stay, Mrs Durham used to call at odd hours, when Clive was out, just to be sure he was doing well. She talked to Robert, and asked him not to tell Mr. Durham she had called. «He would feel diminished, you see. He'd think I worry too much, he might believe I don't trust him to live alone in town... It will be a secret between us.» Then, as time passed, she had ceased her calls. It remained as their private secret and he had never said a word about it to Clive.

Every single surface in the office was free of dust. He was going to talk to Mr. Durham, to calm him, to make him see it was for them to ensure there would be no slips. It was all in their hands. Maybe it wasn't perfection, but it was as perfect as it could be. Enough was as good as a feast.

***

Sitting alone in his comfortable first class train compartment, Clive was trying hard not to fall asleep. He wasn't that tired, but had eaten a nice big lunch at home, and was feeling pleasantly full, so the motion, the warmth of his travel rug, and the drumming noise of the train were lulling him. He shook his head, waking from a brief nap for the third or fourth time.

\- This is stupid! - he muttered to himself. He looked at his watch. There was at least another hour to go.

He opened his small weekend bag and took out his old journal. Maybe reading would help to keep him awake.

> _Christmas Day 1921_
> 
> _I love Christmas! And now, with Leslie and Irene, it is really the most wonderful day._
> 
> _Pippa and Archie couldn't come this year. Maudie caught chicken pox and gave it to her brothers, so they all stayed at home and Mother stayed with them to help. So it was a cosy Christmas._
> 
> _Yesterday, Leslie went to bed feeling very worried about the fact that Father Christmas might not bring anything for Irene, as it happened last year._

Clive smiled, briefly closing the notebook with his finger marking the page. Such lovely memories! At once, his thoughts drifted to Robert. In '21 he would have been what? Eighteen?

«He is so young!», Clive whispered to himself. But he remembered the Vicar and Clarice, whose age difference was even wider and seemed such a wonderful match. He resumed his reading.

> _Anne tried to calm him, remembering that last Christmas Irene was too small to notice, but he wasn't convinced, not completely. So, in the morning he was as happy with his sister's pretty teddy bear as with his own Peter Rabbit and Benjamin Bunny books. After breakfast, Martha told Anne he had even said a special prayer, about how Irene should get a nice Christmas present this year, before going to sleep._

He paused again. He thought of Anne, waving good bye on the platform, holding Leslie's hand while Irene held to her coat's pocket on the other side. A mix of loving, guilt and confusion invaded him. He loved her deeply. And he loved Robert no less. What did those feelings make of him? Was he some kind of moral monster? He returned to his old journal, trying to forget the muddle in his head.

> _We had no snow this year, it wasn't cold enough. I was sorry, for I had planned going out with Leslie to make a snowman. Still, I sat with him by the fire and I read Petter Rabbit to him, and we had a wonderful time, first worrying and then laughing with his misfortunes._
> 
> _At tea we had big slices of Christmas cake, the most delicious thing! Even Irene had a few crumbs and we all laughed at her smudged face and at how delighted she looked._

Clive closed the notebook. In spite of the sweetness of the memories ha had just been reading about, or maybe because of it, he felt uneasy. He closed his eyes for a moment. He could see Anne and the children, and Robert's image mingled with theirs. Robert taking the little ones to fetch the eggs, Robert making a scratching post for Irene's kitten, with a small log and some rope. He could not help thinking of them all with the same fondness. If only he could keep them all next to him!

«Get down from the clouds, Clive! What are you imagining?» He dismissed that righteous voice in his head. He knew it too well and didn't like it a bit. That was the voice he had let speak for him the last time he had seen Maurice.

Again he thought about his young valet. Robert bandaging his shoulder at night and ending his task with a kiss. He laughed softly and bitterly, thinking that at least he was no longer sleepy. And the train would be arriving at the station soon enough.

***

As soon as he stepped out of the train, Clive saw Robert. His heart leapt, as it always did when he saw Anne after a few weeks in London, as it had done years and years ago at the sight of Maurice after the summer vacation. Robert was standing on the platform, looking absolutely perfect in his bottle green uniform, his cap under his arm, his pretty face very solemn and not a single hair out of place.

\- Welcome back, Mr Durham. - and his voice was detached, professional, not a drop of feeling in it - Had a good journey, sir? Here, let me take your bag.

Clive concealed a smile. How amazing Robert was in every circumstance! The car was parked very close to the station. Robert opened the door for Clive, acting like he always did in public, the perfect valet, the perfect chauffeur. He put the bag on the front seat. The drive was quick and uneventful. The car stopped at the door of the small block of flats, and again Robert opened the car door to let Clive out. Then he used his keys to open the door of the building.

\- I'll go keep the car, sir. Be back in a minute with your bag.

\- Thank you, Robert, but I can take the bag. It's so small... - and he walked back to the car and picked it up from the front seat, so fast that the young man had no time to retort.

With a mischievous smile that only Clive could see, Robert sat back on the driver's seat and drove away.

Clive searched his pocket for the keys while climbing the two flights of stairs. There was a lift but he never used it. The flat was silent and smelled of waxed floor and clean linen, with just a hint of lavender. It was the smell Clive had come to associate with his home in town and with Robert, so he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before opening his room's door.

Everything was spotless and not a pin was out of place, in spite of his clear recollection of having left a few items of clothing scattered around. He put the bag on the bed and heard Robert's hurried steps on the stairs, the key turn and the door open. True to his word, it had taken him no more than a couple of minutes to come home. Clive felt a pair of strong arms around his waist and the warm breath on his neck, as Robert held him fiercely and nuzzled in his hair, whispering.

\- Oh, I missed you so much, sir! I wanted so hard to kiss you on that platform!

Leaning back into that comforting embrace, Clive answered in the same muffled tone.

\- I know! I'd have jumped into your arms right there and then if it was possible.

There wasn't the littlest bit of sadness or bitterness in Robert's answer, whispered into Clive's ear.

\- Still we have this, and it's much more than most folks get. Most people have nothing. I wouldn't trade what we have for the world, sir.

Clive turned around and looked up to face him. Robert was a few inches taller.

\- We'll have to make do...

Robert's eyes were pools of sombre light. His voice was like honey when he talked, slowly and deliberately.

\- We cannot let ourselves think like that, sir. One tends to do it, I know, but it's wrong. If we believe that the only thing we are able to is make do, we'll end up being unhappy and hating each other.

Resting his head on Robert's shoulder, enclosed and safe in his arms, Clive knew he was right. Thinking like that had been the end of him and Maurice years ago. Making do had done them in, so to speak. How sensible of Robert to know it and to put it in words. He was right, Robert, most people had nothing. They, on the other hand, had time together, they had the flat for shelter, they had each other, they had fine and full lives.

\- We are lucky, sir, really lucky. We are to take the best advantage of what we have, and not weep for what we cannot have.

And having said such wise words, he began to undo Clive's neck tie.

 


	12. June 1925 (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer approaches and Clive will be returning to Pendersleigh. Luckily, Robert is still the wisest of lovers.

\- Are you not scared sometimes, Robert?

\- Scared, sir? Me? No. Why do you ask?

\- Well, we are breaking the law...

There was no use in pretending that thought hadn't crossed his mind a couple of times. Yet, he had asked it in an almost careless tone.

Robert sat up on the bed and looked around. Clive's clothes were neatly folded, his own plaid dressing gown was hanging from the hook behind the door, the room was as tidy as it always was, the room's door was closed. He frowned and then gave one of his luminous laughs.

\- I beg your pardon, sir, but if we are breaking any law, it must be a stupid law that deserves to be broken. After all, sir, laws are made by men and men make mistakes all the time.

His logic was impeccable and Clive loved him even more for that.

_Maurice_

_Sometimes, he reminds me of you. He has a logic of his own and will not be moved._

_When I allow myself to feel scared, he notices and makes it go away. A few times I could see your stubborn face and hear your voice, so full of certainty, telling me you were in love with Scudder._

Clive had written it in his journal that same afternoon. Robert had that same obstinacy he remembered in Maurice. And it was every bit as endearing now as it had been then. More even if that was possible.

\- You are right, Robert. You see things straighter. Maybe politics has already begun to cloud my better judgement.

The young man looked absurdly beautiful in his blue cotton pyjamas, his hair tousled and his eyes shining. He was quite passionate with his opinions.

\- You are in Parliament, sir, you help make the laws, so you probably know more about it than I do. Still, I cannot understand what kind of wrong are we doing. We are both adults, we both know what we are doing, and we do it in the privacy of this room, doors closed and all. It's our own affair and it concerns nobody else...

\- Maybe you ought to be in Parliament instead of me, Robert – Clive laughed, turning out the light– You might be persuasive enough...

When they had had t his conversation, summer was approaching and they would move to Pendersleigh in less than a fortnight. Their routines would inevitably change and Clive worried.

\- Are you going to miss our life in London when we go back to the country?

He was getting dressed to go out. Some of his MP fellows had cornered him into accepting some invitation. «Come, Durham, you are turning into a hermit. You don't go out, you hardly accept invitations, you keep running away to the country on every possible occasion...! Are you taking to religion in your thirties, old thing? It's far too early for that, you know?» In the end he had accepted, just to get rid of them.

Robert was brushing his coat. He answered without interrupting what he was doing.

\- In a way, sir, yes. But mostly no. I mean, it's only fair. Mrs Durham and the children miss you too. If you think of it straight, sir, you have been seeing more of me lately than you've seen your children.

He was right, and Clive blushed. Standing behind Clive, straightening his bow tie, Robert smiled.

\- May I speak frankly, sir? - and without waiting, he added – You look so beautiful when you blush!

*******

Anne's weekly letter had arrived. Clive had received it with his breakfast and was reading over his bacon and eggs.

_My dearest Clive,_

_Though I know you would never forget, I'm reminding you that Irene will turn five on the 13 th. She has been showing some interest in having a new doll, «not one very frilly» she insists, adding that she would like one she could actually talk to. And she is not meaning she wants a talking doll, but one she feels a connection to. So, ask Pippa to help you, and do your very best my dear._

_It is a good thing she is starting school in September. I think she misses having other girls around, though she has a wonderful time with Leslie and Fox. But Leslie spends a great deal of time at school and then still has his homework to do. And Fox, though she loves him dearly, has a mind of his own and won't do as she pleases. She has become really good friends with Emily, but of course Clarice cannot bring Emily to Pendersleigh every other day. School will do her the world of good._

_And since I brought the subject «School», the new teacher came for the weekend to see the room and to get to know the place. She stayed at Mrs Bayne's and proved to be very nice indeed. Her name is Bella Collier and she is exactly my age, we even have birthdays in the same month, only six days apart, something I had noticed when we chose her over the other applicants, but had completely forgotten. I'll tell you all about her visit when you come to stay: there is so much to say. Anyway, she approved the arrangements for the classroom, so it is now almost ready._

_We are already making plans for the summer. The children send their love. Take care, my dear._

_Anne_

Clive would miss Irene's birthday, but he had already written her a pretty postcard. Anne's suggestion was very welcome. He had no plans for that day and had managed to catch Pippa at the telephone. She was delighted to be asked to help with Irene's birthday present.

Escorted by his sister and under Pippa's advise he'd raided the toy shops and after the most tiring afternoon he remembered, he'd chosen the funniest doll, with big round eyes, looking sideways, and short brown hair, dressed in blue and white gingham dress and knickers, and wearing a mischievous smile that was so much like Irene's. The shop girl had told him that this new material was unbreakable, something to take into consideration with Irene, whose previous experiences with porcelain dolls had been quite disastrous. Still under Pippa's supervision, he had then ordered some extra clothes for the doll.

He had put the postcard in the package with the birthday present and he had, of course, enclosed a letter to Anne. Robert would post it all in the morning after dropping him at the Parliament, for one of the last sessions.

_My dear Anne_

_I'm just sending a quick word. I'll be going home for the summer on the 28 th so I'll soon have the opportunity to hug and kiss you all at will. _

_I'm sending Irene's birthday present and a card, so that she gets them on the right day. I know these little things mean a lot when we are small. I hope she likes the doll. It is true she hasn't been very enthusiastic about dolls, but this one is so looked like her! And if she asked for one, it is obviously the right present. The girl that sold it to me assured it's nearly unbreakable so I trust she won't meet the same sad end of her predecessors. You will notice she is equipped not only with the clothes she's wearing, but also with pyjamas and dressing gown, outdoor coat and hood, and a party frock. It's all Pippa's doing, I would have never thought of it, but according to her no respectable doll should have less than that._

_Please give Irene a special kiss from me. I entertained the idea of going there for the day but it would be extremely tiring, and I haven't even recovered from the shopping afternoon with Pippa! I'll have all kinds of things to do these last two weeks in town. The boiler will have to be inspected, I'm having a new gas cooker installed, and there's something wrong with the pipes that make a ghastly noise. The bulk of the work is to be done during summer but I'll have to arrange things before I leave._

_All my love to you and the children. I'll be embracing you soon._

_C_

_PS: I'll want to hear all about the new teacher. Robert reported that his mother was completely charmed._

*******

The last days before departing where exhausting. So many things to attend to! Between a visit to his tailor and an appointment with Doctor Hoper, Clive had found five minutes to talk to Irene on the telephone on her birthday. He was amazed at how grown up she sounded.

\- Daddy! Oh, Daddy, thank you so much! How clever of you to have found Lucy! - Clive deduced the doll had already been christened – She is so perfect! And the clothes too! You are the best Daddy in the world!

And he had heard her running steps dying away before the telephone was picked up by a laughing Anne that informed him about the absolute success of his present.

\- She was beside herself with joy! The doll is really funny looking, just the ideal doll for her. I'm having Clarice and the children for a small tea party at four and Pippa promised to bring Maudie and stay for the weekend. The boys are coming home from school next Saturday and she wants to have one last weekend of peace. Good bye, my dear. Have a good week.

He was already late for his doctor appointment. He asked Robert to drive him there and managed to arrive only some perfectly excusable fifteen minutes late. Doctor Hoper was very pleased with how well he was doing. Physiotherapy had improved greatly his shoulder movements, and the nightly bandaging during the cold months had brought down the pain to a bearable level.

\- I'm sending you to the country with a clear bill of health. Now see you don't ruin it, Clive. Move that arm, man! Play some tennis, badminton if tennis proves too hard. Take your children out to fly a kite. You really ought to spend at least a week by the sea to swim, but our water is too cold for your shoulder... The south of France would be ideal but maybe your children are still too young to be left with their nanny.

Clive smiled, buttoning up his shirt.

\- There is no nanny, doctor. You see, Anne wants to give our children a modern education. She's even presiding over the opening of a Montessori kindergarten class at the village. But mother might be persuaded to stay for a week or ten days at Pendersleigh with them...

He had left, with a prescription for a milder painkiller, already planing to surprise Anne with a week at Juan-les-Pins.

The last week in London was hectic. If it hadn't been for Robert, he'd have gone mad. He still got quite upset with the whole lot of things to be done, but Robert made him sit in his office to pack the papers he'd want to take, and firmly took care of the rest.

\- You mustn't worry, sir. I have a list that Mr Clarkson sent to me, and I've conferred everything with Mrs Allen.

By the last afternoon all the prospective works were spoken for and scheduled, the winter clothes had been cleaned and kept under dust covers, handfuls of horse chestnuts in all the pockets to keep moths away, the trunks had been taken to the railway station and sent to Pendersleigh, their handbags were packed and Clive could finally breathe.

\- We are going to spend the summer apart...

Robert gently kissed his shoulder over the silk pyjamas. They were both terribly tired but weren't throwing away the opportunity to sleep in each other's arms one last time before leaving London.

\- I'll still be taking care of you every day, though...

\- Won't it make you feel bad?

He couldn't see Robert's smile but he could hear it in his voice and feel the warm breath in his hair.

\- No, sir. I like taking care of you. And Mrs Durham, your children, they need you. The summer belongs to them, sir.

\- But won't you feel awkward?

Warm, strong arms pulled him closer.

\- No. sir. I know I have you. We'll be back to town in October. They are your family, part of your life, it's only natural, sir... You know you wouldn't be complete without them.

\- You are right, of course. But, in a way, you are my family too...

Robert sat up. Clive turned to look at him. He was smiling still and his eyes were bright and liquid. He took Clive's hand and kissed it right where the palm met the wrist. He kept Clive's hand in his, softly rubbing circles with his thumb on the warm skin.

\- Oh, sir, the world is as it is. And being so, I cannot stand beside you. I am glad you have Mrs Durham and the children, sir. I'm glad you don't have to stand alone. It is a good thing you have two sets of family, sir.

 


	13. Four postcards and one happy family reunion (August 1925)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clive and Anne travel to the Continent. The children stay at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting huge, much bigger than I had foreseen. But the story keeps unfolding, what am I to do? Thanks in advance to whoever keeps reading. It'll come to an end, eventually, I promise.

Clarkson brought the first post after breakfast, as usual. Grandma, sitting at the head of the table, where Daddy usually sat, took a postcard and smiled.

\- Leslie, dear, there is a card for you.

Leslie took the postcard. It had a photograph of some place he did not know. He turned it around and found some written lines on the other side.

_My dears,_

_We promised to write one card from every place, so here is the first one._

_From here, we will be travelling by boat, and then by train to Paris._

_Daddy sends his love. Be good to Grandma and to each other._

_Love from_

_Mummy_

\- Read it aloud, Les! What does it say?

\- Irene! Manners!

The little girl turned to face her grandmother, her big blue eyes open wide.

\- I'm so sorry, Grandma. I won't do it again.

Leslie read the few words on the card. As soon as Grandma excused them, they ran to the garden to read the card again and look at the photograph. Maybe Mummy and Daddy had walked on that street. Their parents had only been gone for three days, and already the children missed them so much! Grandma was nice, she let them play in the garden all day and have lemonade for tea, and Robert was putting up a swing for them, and everybody was so good, but they still missed their parents.

\- Les, why did Daddy have to go to France to swim?

\- Our water is too cold for his bad shoulder. And I heard Aunt Pippa say that grown-ups need time on their own. You know how Daddy spends all the time in London, so maybe Mummy needs to have Daddy all to herself for some days.

\- I still think it's not fair! Oh, hi Fox!

Irene's ginger cat had approached. He carefully sniffed every inch of the postcard and then curled on the warm grass to sleep.

*******

The next postcard arrived two days later, addressed to Irene. It came from Paris and had a photograph of an iron tower.

_My dear Bug,_

_Here is a photograph of the Eiffel Tower. It is all made of iron and rather ugly._

_Mummy just bought a pretty straw hat to protect her from the sun, and some lovely new dresses. I happen to know she also got some little surprise for you._

_Love from us both, and a big kiss from_

_Daddy_

Grandmother read the lines aloud. Irene felt so proud she could burst. A postcard with her name on! Just like a grown up girl. Those were the only words she managed to read on her own: _Miss Irene Durham_. She kept the card in her pocket and as soon as breakfast was over she took it to her room and put it on her night table, propped against the night lamp.

She held her doll Lucy, who was still in her pyjamas, and showed her the card.

\- Oh, Lucy, look! Daddy sent me a postcard. A real postcard, with a pretty stamp and all. See there? It's french and I cannot read it, but it's wonderful.

Lucy gave her a sideways glance and kept her mouth shut, as she always did. Irene sighed. She missed her parents. She missed her Mummy who was always there, and she missed her Daddy, who spent such a whole lot of time away.

\- Well, Lucy, let's change into your play clothes. The swing is already up.

*******

The next card arrived with the afternoon post and was addressed to Leslie. Clarkson gave it to Grandma and she read it in silence, smiled, and called Irene.

\- Look what has just arrived!

She jumped in excitement.

\- A card! Is it for me?

\- No, my dear, it's for your brother. Can you take it? And call him for tea, it's almost time...

There was no need to ask again. The little girl took the post card and ran out into the garden, screaming.

\- Leslieeeee! Leeeees! Post card from Mummy!

Leslie had been sitting on a piece of shade on the wildest part of the grounds, at the back of the house, with a new book his father had brought him from London. Soon he had become so involved in his reading he could hear nothing. The story had been written as if told by a dog and he found it fascinating.

 

> “ _ **But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles...”**_

 

But before he could read another word, Irene's voice pierced his ears. Looking up, he saw her running, brandishing something small above her head. As soon as he set eyes on her, she tripped over a sturdier stalk of grass or a small stone and fell down. She landed with a muffled thud and got up as fast as lightning, brushing her pinafore and laughing.

\- Irene! Good God, are you hurt?

She gave a quick look at her knees and dismissed the light scratching.

\- No, just a scratch on my knee. I'm so clumsy! But you have a postcard from Daddy, and Grandma said it's almost tea time. What's that you're reading?

\- The Call of the Wild. It's good, it's a dog's story and the dog actually tells it.

And he took the postcard from his sister's hand to read it.

_Dear Leslie_

_The weather is very hot and even the seawater is warm. Daddy swims every morning. We both miss you. Every evening we take a long stroll down the promenade on the photograph, so you can imagine us there._

_All our love to you all, and a kiss from_

_Mummy_

They walked home together, in silence. Robert was watering the rose bushes, wearing a big green apron and a straw hat. When he took a good look at them, he put down the watering can and ran to the children.

\- Oh my God, Miss Irene! What happened to you?

She stared at him, her eyes wide in surprise.

\- Nothing...

\- Your knees... Your dress...

She looked down. There were grass stains on her white pinafore and her knees were badly scraped and dirty, and bleeding faintly.

\- Oh, that... I fell. But it's nothing...

\- Your Grandmother will have a fit! You cannot go into the morning room to have tea like that!

It was Martha's afternoon off. Robert was quick to think.

\- Master Leslie, you run up to your sister's room and bring her a clean frock. You follow me, Missy!

He took Irene to the kitchen where he cleaned her knees and dabbed iodine on the scratches. Cook helped her to change into clean clothes that Leslie managed to bring unobserved.

\- Seems like t'was yesterday I did the very same thing for miss Pippa! Time flies!

*******

_Maurice_

_I'm sitting at my desk with the Mediterranean in front of me. If the news I heard from the Vicar are accurate, and you are living in Malta, I could almost wave to you._

_Anne is resting. The sun and the sea air are doing wonders for our health, and swimming has greatly improved my bad shoulder, but the heat between twelve and five pm is oppressive, and on the whole it is tiring too. I don't envy the people who live here, though I expect it will be colder in Winter._

_I avoid sleeping during the day, or I won't sleep at night. So I use these few hours to read, to write, and to scribble a postcard for the children. I miss them very much. Maybe we will be able to bring them with us next year._

_I miss him, too. I wish I could send him a postcard, just two or three lines to say I miss him, and I love him just the same. But, in his wise words, the world is as it is._

He closed his notebook, and looked at the postcard he'd bought the day before on a small newspaper stand along the Promenade. Clive had bought the postcard on an impulse. It was not a photograph, but a rather modern print, with vivid colours and a few words in french. Anne had pronounced it “too flashy” , but Irene would like it, he was certain.

_Dear Bug_

_I chose this card especially for you. These are the colours we see every day. Most bathing suits are black, but the palm trees are green, the sea and the sky are a bright blue, and at night the ladies wear dresses in all colours._

_Tomorrow is our last day here, and then we'll start our way home._

_Love from_

_Daddy_

The next day was their last. Anne, cautious as ever, had already begun their packing. She was looking splendid, Clive thought. She had gained a couple of pounds, had acquired a light tan that was very becoming, and the new clothes bought in Paris gave her a rather distinguished look. Clive had felt the proudest of men walking by her side on the Promenade every evening.

He remembered how he had been stricken by her pale face and tired expression when he had arrived at Pendersleigh. The last year had been rather tiring for her, alone with the children and all the little problems of a normal household to solve without her husband's presence, plus the extra work for the kindergarten class and, through all that, still worrying about Clive's ill health. And how surprised she had been when he told her of his plans for the summer.

\- Oh Clive, that would be wonderful, but can we? What about the children? And more important, can we afford it?

He had been determined not to let her get distressed about any of it.

\- Of course we can! I'm under medical orders and you would be too, if Hoper saw how tired you look. You deserve a few days rest, sun, sea, two days in Paris to put your wardrobe up-to-date.

She had made a feeble attempt to answer back, but he hadn't let her.

\- It is all taken care of. Train tickets bought, hotels booked, and Mother agreed to stay here with the children for the duration. She even offered to supervise the summer cleaning while we are out. After all, she knows the place.

*******

Leslie and Irene were impatiently sitting in the living room, waiting. They had washed their faces and hands, and changed into clean clothes to greet their parents. Clive and Anne had arrived the day before, but since it was late and they were both very tired, they had decided to stay overnight at Clive's flat in London, and were arriving by train. Baynes had left almost an hour ago to drive them home from the train station.

Leslie had tried to read his book, but couldn't keep his attention on the pages, and had given up. Irene was constantly running to the morning room to make sure the strawberry jam was on the table where everything was ready for tea, because it was Daddy's favourite. Oblivious to all the commotion, Fox was sleeping on a patch of sunlight, curled up into a ginger fur ball.

\- Oh, it is taking so long!

Suddenly, Leslie looked up. He had heard the car.

\- It's the car, Grandma! I heard the car! Irene, it's the car!

It was the car. Five minutes later, the car stopped at the front door. Baynes got out and opened the car door to let Daddy out, looking very brown and wearing a white hat. Irene screamed.

\- Daddy! Oh Daddy, you look so handsome!

Then, Daddy helped Mummy out of the car. She was very brown too, with a new hairdo, and a new dress. Leslie's heart jumped at the sight.

\- Mummy!

Not even Grandma had the heart to scold them. Irene jumped to her father's arms and Leslie silently held his mother's waist, which was the highest he could get.

\- Oh, Daddy, I missed you so much! Did you swim a lot? Is your shoulder stronger now? - Irene was swarming Clive with questions and kisses – Say, can we go rowing tomorrow? Oh, Daddy, Robert put up a swing for us, you must come and see! And there is strawberry jam for tea, I checked five times!

Leslie was just hiding his face in the soft silk of his mother's dress, breathing in her familiar scent, unable to say anything for his heart was full to the point of bursting.

While he was smoothing Irene's hair and half listening to her torrent of declarations and questions, Clive caught a glimpse of Robert. He was helping Baynes and Clarkson with the bags and the trunk, but his eyes were shining, and he gave Clive one of his luminous smiles.

\- Glad to see you back looking so good, sir!

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leslie is reading Jack London's «The Call of the Wild», a perfect summer reading for a sensitive and bookish eight year-old, in an era when reading was all an upper class kid had to do in his free time.


	14. August 1925 (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clive is torn between happiness and guilt. On the other, and less troubled hand, the new kindergarten classroom is ready.

The long summer days away from home, alone with Anne, had given Clive plenty of time for two major things. In years to come, he would remember that week as a much longer period.

The first had been the chance to build a new and better intimacy with his wife, easier now that he felt complete and longed to prove how much he loved her, not only to her but to himself as well, and was, thanks to Robert, much more at ease with his body and with the whole intimacy thing.

He and Anne had shared the bed in the small hotel suite at Juan-les-Pins. The heat, and the pleasant tiredness it induced, combined with her new parisian short nightwear, all pink or ivory satin and lace, had certainly helped. He paid attention to little details of their newfound shared intimacy. Seemingly unimportant things that had never caught his mind before, like the soft weight of her breasts, how nice it felt to spoon her and listen to her calm breathing while she slept, or how good it was to feel her holding him, the warmth of her arms around his waist. How silly of him to have lost all those years, loving her and failing to appreciate how pretty she was! And how much prettier she seemed every day, her dark curls escaping from the ribbon she used to tie her hair at night, warm and sleepy when he kissed her good morning before leaving for his swim, or all neat and ready, in her blue and white linen beach dress, to accompany him to breakfast after he had showered and changed.

They never talked about sex or physical intimacy, but now and then Clive would catch Anne sitting on the balcony, curled in a wicker chair with her embroidering work on her lap, absent-mindedly twirling one curl around her finger, lost in thoughts that were certainly quite pleasant if he was reading her smile rightly.

The thought that he owed to Robert this discovery of physical happiness in his marriage always brought Clive to the second of his free time occupations and that was to do some serious thinking.

The long train journeys, but above all his swimming routine during the week at Juan-les-Pins and Anne's long afternoon rests had given him plenty of time on his own. He wanted to examine his past year, and maybe think ahead, but he ended up by delving in the immediate past and the present, the change in his life over the last few months.

Guilt was seeping through his happiness like a snake through high grass, relentless, almost unnoticed and completely unwelcome. It was a strange, crippling feeling: the happier he felt, the heavier the guilt. Clive turned it around and around in his mind, but there was never a way he could shake it off completely. He was lying to Anne. He was endangering Robert. He was risking his children's happiness and future. Yet, he was absurdly happy at the same time.

_Maurice_

_I feel so happy it scares me. My life has reached the perfection I've badly needed for so long. I couldn't ask for more than I have. The thing is, it is all wrong!_

Words failed him. What more could he write? His love for Maurice, wrong and depraved as it had been, had at least been purely platonic and stemmed from a respectable tradition. _**The main-stay of Athenian society**_ , he had said once. But this was different. There was nothing platonic in his relationship with Robert. There was nothing platonic in his married life with Anne. And he couldn't chose! How could he, if had never felt so good?

He remembered how he had believed himself cursed by some particular strangeness in his youth, when he had began to feel attracted to other boys. What a relief the classical texts had brought him then! There were no classical texts now. Maybe he had some particular defect after all, something so terrible and uncommon there wasn't even a name for it. But his body and his soul yearned in equal measure for Anne and Robert. Always “and”, never “or”.

Leaving Anne and the children was unthinkable. Not only was the idea unbearably painful, but he was aware of how damaging it would be for them, a husband and father that left his family for a man, and a servant, of all men... Clive knew the ways of the world. No matter how discreetly he handled the whole affair, it would come out eventually. Care and discretion might avoid the scandal, but never the gossip. Nor the pity. He tried to picture his fellow MPs whispering «Have you heard about Durham... Those poor children!». It gave him nausea! But the thought of losing Robert was equally painful. How could he resign to a quiet half-life? He had before, but he didn't know better then.

In confusion, he turned to his journal. Writing down the things had always helped him to see straight. Yet, his journal entries were as troubled as he was. They swung between elated joy and deep misery, between unblemished love both for Anne and Robert and abject guilt for his inability to chose.

_Maurice_

_What a mess, my dear friend! If confusion doesn't do me in, guilt most certainly will! This is unmapped ground. Where am I to go next, what am I to do?_

Love may be blind, and overpowering too, but guilt is like a slow infection. The more Clive thought about the direction his life was taking, the more he felt it had to be some kind of tremendous monstrosity, a disgusting disease, something really nasty and despicable, and yet, at the same time, he defied those thoughts, for he felt so completely blessed... As August progressed and the day he and Robert would go back to London drew nearer, he became restless.

_Maurice_

_I'll have to make some kind of decision. Maybe not just yet, but I'll have to make it in the end. And, no matter how I look at it, any decision I make will bring me nothing but misery. “Don't do it, then!” you might suggest, but that is not only impossible, it's unthinkable. I cannot go on betraying Anne like this. I cannot keep this danger hanging over my children's heads. Over his head as well._

*******

In the meantime, the Montessori classroom was ready to open in September. Anne had taken Clive for a visit right after their french holiday. The white walls had been stencilled with flying swallows. There was a big blackboard on one of the walls, looking brand new and ready to be filled with drawings, words and numbers. The tables and chairs that Clive had seen in the spring as a heap of mismatched, sad looking old furniture, had been sanded, waxed and polished, and looked brand new. Also their legs had been trimmed to make them more friendly to the short legs of their future users.

\- Maria Montessori believes that adult size furniture creates a hostile ambiance in the classroom. Lower tables and chairs will make the girls feel safer and much more confident for they will not need help or great efforts to use them.

Moreover, they were not aligned in neat rows, as it happened in every classroom Clive had ever been into, but disposed in small groups, two or three tables together and four or six chairs around, as if for a small tea party. Next to the blackboard there was an adult size armchair and a adult size small desk with drawers, for the teacher.

\- In a Montessori class, children work in small groups - Anne explained – It is believed to enhance their ability to cooperate and to learn from each other. And as little children tire easily, they can move to another group as soon as one task is done.

She showed him the coloured cardboard boxes where the school materials were stored in low shelves along the walls: letters cut out of sandpaper and glued to wooden squares, the box of rubber stamps and the ink pads for the printing corner, the boxes with wooden beads, both loose and in rows for the arithmetic activities, the nap corner, with big cushions and carefully folded blankets, the pile of educational puzzles, the shelf full of books, the coloured chalks, the activity corner with wooden blocks, pegboards and coloured pegs, and boxes with pieces of cloth, balls of wool and cotton yarn, a big pincushion with blunt tip needles and a couple of very funny frames with laces to tie and buttons to put through their buttonholes. On the teacher's desk was the box of beautiful things meant to teach children to appreciate beauty: pearly and rose seashells, shiny glass beads, colourful bits of silk, velvet, brocade and lace, smooth beach pebbles and a few pieces of sea glass, a white and blue porcelain doorknob, the iridescent stopper of an ancient Venetian glass bottle, a big round amber bead with an insect trapped inside, and a pretty silver teaspoon.

One of the families had contributed with a small portable gramophone, and there were a few classical music records on a shelf, next to a container full of all kinds of empty boxes, tins and bottles, with dried beans, rice, and even gravel inside. Anne explained their were «sound boxes», for musical education. Everything was pretty, colourful, appealing. Clive though that any child would feel happy in that room.

\- The girls will go home for lunch, of course, between noon and one. I made an arrangement with Clarice about Irene's lunch: she will host the lunch and I'll have Baynes drive the lunch hamper to the Rectory every other week.

\- Won't that mean a lot of trouble for Clarice? - worried Clive.

\- I thought so, but she said «My dear, I have four little girls and boys for lunch every day, so one more won't make a difference...», and I had to accept she was probably right. She didn't even want me to send the hamper, but I insisted.

Clive smiled and said she had been right in insisting.

\- After lunch, they return to the room for an hour, to nap. Even if they do not sleep, they'll rest. Then, from two until five, they'll have afternoon activities: telling stories, tending their flowerbeds, playing with their dolls in the house corner, drawing... and keeping everything in their rightful places during the last thirty minutes, because that is part of their education.

The room was beautiful, Clive thought. Plenty of natural light, pretty colours, it was more like a playroom than like a school.

\- Miss Collier should have an assistant teacher, but we have no budget for it, so the mothers made a plan to assist, one every morning. Since there are nineteen of us, that makes one morning a month, more or less. I'm very excited about it! I'm hoping to learn quite a lot... Do you know that one of the rules is always handling the learning materials with care and reverence?

\- No, I didn't know. Why is it?

\- It is a way of teaching children how valuable and precious knowledge really is. Isn't it a beautiful thought?

\- It is a very interesting notion. And what if something breaks?

\- Oh, I asked that to Miss Collier, you know? She answered that children must learn from their mistakes. If everything is unbreakable, they'll never learn to handle things with care. Loss and grief are part of education too.

Anne's cheeks were sightly flushed and she looked and sounded excited. Clive squeezed her hand and kissed her.

\- I'm glad you are taking so much interest in this. It sounds extraordinarily interesting, really. I heard something about these new educational methods from some younger chaps in Parliament, and they sound as excited as you. Maybe you should spend a couple of days in London with me and meet some of them for dinner. I expect you would have a lot to talk about, and might teach them a thing or two.

Anne returned his kiss.

\- I hope you mean it, for I might just do that, you know?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line in bold is from E. M. Forster's _Maurice_ , from my 1988 Penguin Edition.


	15. October 1925

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt is taking its toll on Clive. Though there is not the slightest danger in sight, he is uneasy about himself.

A letter from Pendersleigh was waiting beside his dinner plate. News from Anne and the children. News from Irene's first school days, perhaps. The paper knife sat there, unobtrusive, waiting. Robert was as perfect as ever.

_My dear Clive_

_Prepare yourself to be dazzled by the quantity and quality of our news. “Dazzled” , “quality” and “quantity” are Irene's most recent vocabulary acquisitions, so she insisted I use them all in the first sentence of this letter._

_Oh, my dearest! We do miss you, but life has been so exciting now Irene goes to school! Almost every day she comes home with something new. A new word, a wonderful discovery, a puzzling question, an empty snail shell... I would never have believed, if I wasn't witnessing it, how fascinating the world seems to the eyes of a curious child. Sometimes, she is actually out of words, and she just waves her hands, unable to explain how marvellous something she just learned is. At this point, of course, Leslie comes to the rescue, calming her down and helping with wise questions. In the end, Irene recognises she has the best big brother in the world and Leslie never forgets to praise his sister's cleverness. I know you would love to see all this._

Clive smiled at the image this paragraph brought to his mind. He could picture Leslie with his gentleman's manners and Irene blushing at the praise.

\- Good news, sir? - Robert was bringing the coffee.

\- Wonderful news! Irene is learning so much she is actually unable to put it all in words. Imagine that, Robert, Irene out of words!

Robert's eyes flickered. He had a soft spot for little miss Irene.

\- She's that clever, sir!

\- I know. It's even a bit scary how clever she is...

Robert poured him a cup of fragrant coffee.

\- Scary, sir? Don't you even think such a thing! These days it is a good thing for a girl to be clever. Our Beth, that's my sister, she says girls are going to claim their place in the world, and she is really clever too. - he added milk and sugar and gave Clive the cup - Can I get you anything more, sir?

\- No, thank you, Robert. I'll finish reading this and then I have a mountain of lethally boring papers to catch on. That's why I asked for the coffee, I'll probably have to make a late night...

Smiling, Robert bent down to kiss the top of Clive's head. In spite of his flawless behaviour as the perfect valet, he sometimes took these little intimate liberties, and Clive loved it.

\- It's all right, sir, I have the kitchen to clean. We'll likely be ready at about the same time.

As he took out the dinner things, Clive returned to the letter.

_Leslie is doing very well at his school too, just like he has always done since he began kindergarten. He spends most of his free time reading, either by himself or to Irene: she loves it when he reads to her and it is beautiful to watch them together. The book is, for now, Jerry of the Islands, the last of that packet you brought him in the summer. From what I overheard, it sounds very good, though Irene sometimes asks “Lower your voice, Les, please, when it is a bad bit...” It wouldn't surprise me if Leslie asked to have a dog, he's literally in love with the book's main character, an Irish Terrier. I wouldn't say no to a dog, myself, as we have plenty of space and it might do Leslie some good to walk and run around a little more._

_To end this letter with a promise of excitement, it seems I'll be going to school as well, at least a school of sorts. Miss Collier is dedicating the next two Saturday afternoons to the instruction of the voluntary “assistant teachers” - the mothers of her girls. We'll have to learn the basics and then, as she says, we'll progress as we go. I invited Clarice to leave the children at Pendersleigh with Martha, or poor Mr. Borenius will never get his sermons written. Not that it would be a great loss, but still it is his duty and I think he actually enjoys the whole writing process. I'm really excited at the prospect of learning new and interesting ideas, and I'll tell you all about it in my next letter._

_Leslie just peeped in and asked if I was writing to you. When I answered I was he asked me to send you his love. Immediately after him, Irene came running with Lucy under her arm and Fox at her heels and asked me to assure you she loves you immensely and sends “many kisses”. Then she ran out again._

_To this I can only add my love to you. Take care, Clive. Yours_

_Anne_

He loved these letters from home. They brought him the little everyday events, Irene learning so much she couldn't even find the words to describe it, Leslie always calm and calming, Anne still growing as a person, learning and loving it. Once more he marvelled at how different his children were. Leslie, the war baby, born while Clive lay in hospital wounded in body and soul, was so serene, so sweet, a bookish, sensitive child, and Irene, the child of peace, arrived when Clive was beginning to heal from his war wounds, was the right image of her time: spirited, clever, alert, a bit clumsy albeit always meaning well, all laugh and energy.

So, Leslie would be wanting a dog. Clive remembered Spot and Dot, his old Labradors. He'd got them for his fifteenth birthday, and they had died serenely, of old age, within a week of each other, just a few weeks before the War. Yes, a dog would be good for Leslie. As he picked up the papers he'd brought from work, he was trying to remember who did he know that bred Irish Terriers.

*******

Robert could feel Mr. Durham was uneasy. He was distracted, would forget his meals if Robert hadn't been watching, sat for long periods seemingly reading but not turning a single page and was again writing tremendously in his journal. Robert knew Clive's journal was private and had never even touched it, but he associated Clive's keenness on journaling with the worse periods of last winter.

It was plain to him that Mr. Durham was unwell. That upset him. He couldn't fathom the reason and it worried him the fact that it might have something to do with something he'd said or done. He didn't like to fear he was somehow contributing to Mr. Durham's uneasiness. Robert had no Maurice to journal to, no one to whom he could talk. He had only himself. So, it was a good thing he had a kitchen to clean, small as it was, dishes to wash and a couple of hours to do it. He thought better if his hands were busy. He rolled up his sleeves, put on an apron and started with the dinner dishes.

Mr. Durham was troubling over something. What could it be? He was not falling ill, Robert was sure, for he kept a keen eye on him, didn't let him skip meals, made him take his medication on time and always saw he didn't forget to put on his warm vest during the coldest months, nor to wear his coat. Not his family, he had just received good news from home. Robert's thoughts drifted to little miss Irene and her ginger cat, to young master Leslie and his books, to Mrs, Durham always so sweet and nice, to his own family, his parents, his sister and Alfred, his only surviving brother. «I must write to mother this week», he thought «to ask about how she's doing with two girls around.»

He had a smile on his face as he finished the dishes. But as he proceeded to clean the small gas stove, his frown deepened: he wasn't even close to discovering what was making Mr. Durham so anxious. Might be his work in Parliament, he thought. Mr. Durham had loads of things to read lately, and sessions were frequent and long. There was some new law in preparation, he'd told Robert, something about property, but Robert failed to see how that could be worrying Clive, so maybe he was just tired, maybe he worked too hard.

That, of course, was exactly the kind of thing Mrs Durham had asked him to keep a discreet eye on. Mr Durham's health was far from perfect, he knew. He still remembered last winter. He began polishing the gas burners with all his strength, as if they were personally responsible for Clive's fatigue. When he finished with the burners, the clock on top of the refrigerator read 10. He heard the gurgling of the boiler, indicating that Clive was using the hot water. Wiping his hands, he looked around: the small kitchen was spotless and he had come to no conclusion. He'd have to ask...

*******

_Maurice_

_Robert is cleaning the kitchen. Anne is at Pendersleigh with the children, probably tucking them in to sleep as it is nearly half past nine. I ought to be reading for the seventh or eighth time the documents I brought home about the new law Parliament is working on, but I've read them twice and nobody expects me to have anything to say about it._

Clive closed his eyes for a few seconds. He could hear the clatter of china from the kitchen. He pictured Anne putting Leslie and Irene to bed, with Martha's help: brushing Irene's hair, helping her button Lucy's pyjamas, surveying to make sure they brushed their teeth properly, asking Martha to take down Leslie's shirt to wash, kissing them both good-night...

Then, she would probably go down again to keep her embroidering or her knitting, and go up to bed herself. He thought about her new silk pyjamas and how lovely she was in them. Then he opened his eyes and looked around the comfortable office. He could now hear Robert humming some song. Robert was lovely in his blue cotton pyjamas and was even lovelier out of them.

The smile died on Clive's face even before it'd had the time to flourish. He looked down at his journal and began writing feverishly.

_I'm at my wits end. I've selfishly put both Anne and Robert in a situation that is really a catastrophe waiting to fall on all of us. How could I? I love them both and managed to get us all into this ghastly mess. When I am with Anne, I feel I'm cheating on Robert. When I'm with Robert, I feel I'm betraying Anne's confidence. And I cannot put an end to it. The idea of losing either of them is unbearable._

_Robert is absolutely perfect, and has never shown the littlest shadow of jealousy. He urges me with the kindest and most considerate words to spend time with Anne and the children. Anne, it goes without saying, knows nothing of what is going on between me and Robert._

In about half an hour, he'd be going to bed. With Robert. And Anne would be sleeping alone. Next week-end, at Pendersleigh, he'd be unbuttoning Anne's ivory coloured silk pyjamas in the warmth of her bed, while Robert would sleep alone in the servant's quarters. What did that make of him?

_How can I go on? Where do I go from here? My head seems ready to burst with the most mixed feelings. Oh, my friend, I am so scared!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jerry of the Islands" is a book by Jack London. It is a wonderful book, one of Jack London's stories about dogs told from the dog's point of view. Yet, as some of the people Jerry lives with are plantation guards, it will strike any normal modern sensibility with its rather aggressive racist language and behaviour. It is the kind of book I let my children read and then talked about with them, just like my father did with me.


	16. January 1926

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet Christmas and an almost awkward conversation. Anne revisits the past.

Christmas was uneventful that year. Pippa and Archie had been to Pendersleigh with the children. Henry, now thirteen, had grown and calmed down a good deal during the previous year, and his younger brother followed him everywhere and looked up to him, so they were both well behaved enough. Mrs. Durham had gone to the south of France with her friend Tilde.

Leslie had been deliriously happy with his Irish Terrier puppy, and had named him Jerry, of course. He was an adorable red haired, long legged and wobbly creature, always wagging it's short tail and crawling under people's hands asking to have his ears scratched. He had fallen absurdly in love with Leslie in two days and even Fox, after a few minor fights, had adopted him.

Anne had felt something different about Clive. He was absentminded, and he looked tired. He had slept in her room most nights, and she had noticed his sleep was unrestful. He even had some scary nightmare, bad enough to wake the both of them up. She'd asked Robert, when she met him in the drawing room, two days after Christmas, filling the hearth basket with coal for the evening. During his stays at Pendersleigh, Clarkson always gave him the odd jobs that required a bit of strength. The young valet had reported the same worry but could offer no answer.

\- I don't know why, Ma'am. Mr. Durham has been like this for a while now, but I can see no reason. I mean, he is eating all his meals, he sleeps soundly... - she had noticed a slight hesitation, as if he was pondering weather to say something or not – He's been having those bad dreams again, though.

His eyes were full of concern. He was every bit as worried as she was. Anne knew Robert would never let anything bad happen to Clive, and felt some degree of peace and gratitude for it.

\- Maybe he has been working too much, I think, Ma'am. There have been sessions almost everyday for the last weeks, and Mr. Durham brings quite a lot of paperwork to do after tea. Sometimes he keeps reading and writing till midnight...

\- That was exactly what I feared when he was elected! He always gets too involved in whatever he is doing. He has always been like that, even before the War, but then of course he was in perfect health ... You mustn't let him work so hard, Robert!

He had assured her he would do his best, and at that moment Leslie and Irene had entered the room, the boy carrying a wet and muddy Jerry in his arms and laughing, and his sister, almost as muddy as the dog, laughing even harder. Fox, looking dumbfounded and as clean and dry as ever, closed the procession.

\- Oh, Mummy, look at Jerry! I was teaching him to fetch, but he followed the stick right into a big puddle and then he rolled in the mud and forgot the stick... Silly puppy!

Anne laughed at the wet puppy, but scolded her children at the same time.

\- You're dripping mud all over the floor, Leslie dear! Take him out, please! And you, Irene, really! Look at you! Go up this instant and tell Martha to run you a hot bath before you catch some bad cold... And see you don't leave mud footsteps on the stairs, will you? Leave those disgusting shoes down here!

The little girl climbed the stairs still giggling. Robert, laughing heartily at the whole scene, had taken the chance to get away of the conversation before it became awkward. He wouldn't want to lie to Mrs. Durham, nor risk giving away too much.

\- Come along you two! Don't you worry, Ma'am, I'll tell Mr. Clarkson to send Millie to clean the floor. Come, master Leslie, let's take care of that wet puppy in the garage. - and picking up Irene's muddy shoes, he left followed by Leslie still carrying the puppy.

Anne had watched them go with a smile and the uneasy feeling that something important had been left unsaid between her and Robert.

*******

Anne would never forget the time she had been to London, to bring Clive home from the military hospital, nor the weeks she'd spent in the city while her husband recovered enough to endure the journey home.

She had visited him in hospital a few times, but somehow had not been aware of how weak he was. At first, he had been to ill to be aware of her presence and she had felt just so grateful he was alive! Then, he was pale and thin, that was true, but she always found him reclining in his bed and he had looked a bit better every time.

The military doctor, who called her «my dear» and was fatherly nice, had had a long talk with her about all the care Clive would need at home.

\- See that he keeps his wounded arm in the sling for the next two weeks at least, longer if you can persuade him. The bone is healed but the wound is not, so to keep the arm at rest is the best he can do. The dressing will have to be changed every other day, but a nurse will go to your flat tomorrow, to teach you how to do it.

He had given her the medication for the pain, and a prescription to renew it, if needed. And warnings to go with it.

\- It is rather strong and may cause addiction. See he doesn't overdo it, only be aware he is almost always in pain, and may have to live with pain for the remaining of his days. Feed him well, make him sleep eight straight hours every night, and above all try to make him take interest in life again. Talk to him, make plans for the future. You have a baby son, I believe...

\- Leslie, yes. He is five months.

The man looked tremendously sorry. He smiled sadly.

\- You are both so young! It's such a criminal waste! Damn this war, if you pardon the language, my dear. It's about to end but it's going to damage and break people's lives right to the last minute, I'm afraid... - he gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze - Make sure he sees the baby every day. He is young, he is physically strong, maybe he'll be able to find some sense in life for his son's sake...

Then, the man had looked at her, trying to assess how much she would be able to bear, before adding:

\- I won't lie to you, my dear. Your husband is a very broken man. We feared for his life and not only because of his wounds, serious as they were. He has a serious case of shell shock, as well. Not bad enough to have him committed, but it has the potential to make his life miserable in the years to come. Our main work at this hospital is to recover the men to send them back to the front, so there is nothing more we can do for him here and I honestly do not believe he'll heal enough in time to go back. The war cannot last that long. I'll give you the address of an old friend of mine. He is quite good with these cases. He has an open mind, if you get my drift... Try him.

He had presented her a card with a name, an address and a telephone number. Doctor L. A. Hoper. Then he had accompanied her to Clive's room.

Clive was sitting on his bed, and stood slowly up when they entered. Anne had barely avoided breaking in tears. He was white as a ghost, and looked incredibly frail. His uniform hung from his emaciated body as if from a coat-hanger. He walked with small slow steps, like an old man, and sometimes dragged his feet as if the weight of his shoes was too much for him to lift. But the worst of all had been his voice, barely audible, and the eyes that seemed too big for his excessively thin face, and were dull and empty, staring ahead as if he was blind.

The first two weeks had been awful. She had made an appointment with Dr. Hoper, and they had stayed at the flat while waiting. Clive's mother had offered to help, but Anne knew that Pippa needed her badly, alone with two little boys, and expecting her third child any day, while Archie had been posted at Dover, doing transport management for the Army, so she had declined.

Martha and Leslie slept in one room, Clive had the other, and she slept in the office, on a folding bed, to be able to hear if Clive needed her during the night. He had terrible nightmares, and woke up screaming, drenched in sweat, his blue eyes insane with some unspoken horror. Anne had been grateful that Leslie was such a sound sleeper.

She used to hide in the bathroom to cry when Clive was sleeping and she couldn't take it any more. She had been so frightened then! What if Clive died? He seemed to have no will to live... Still she did put a brave happy face and a little make-up to meet him every morning, tried her best to make him eat, cooking the things she knew he liked, because Martha couldn't really cook and Leslie needed constant attention. Mrs. Allan came twice a week to do the cleaning and to take the laundry, but that was all.

She sat with Clive all the time, knitting or embroidering, and kept the baby in his presence as long as possible. She talked about little things, the roses in the garden, the chickens in the coop, how Cook had been teaching her to scramble eggs and to bake apple cobbler. Clive spoke very little then, but he seemed to like her conversation and his eyes would light up when Leslie was in the room. When Clive looked stronger, she'd ask him to hold Leslie for a while, and the baby would sit on his father's knees, very still, letting Clive hold him, looking up at that unknown man with his brown eyes wide open. In those moments, that were almost magical, she believed Clive would recover.

Dr. Hoper had given her new hope. He'd said that though it might take a few years _«Yes, Mrs. Durham, years, it is much easier to mess with a person's mind than it is to make it well again, I'm afraid.»_ , Clive would get better. He had made a schedule of fortnightly appointments and urged them to go back to the country: Clive would recover better in calm and known surroundings.

\- Let him walk around the countryside if it is not raining. Good wholesome food, plenty of rest, familiar faces around him... Be patient, he'll have nightmares, he'll lose hope sometimes, he'll probably lose his temper quite often. Remember he has been to Hell and seen absolute horror. A man doesn't forget that easily.

Slowly, unnervingly slowly, with Dr. Hoper's help, he had begun to recover. Anne had promised herself back then she would never again risk losing Clive. No matter what, she would never risk losing him.

 


	17. March 1926

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Robert and Anne pamper Clive above and beyond the call of duty, and all he can do is to feel crushed by guilt.

Guilt is terrible. It's like some chronic disease, it eats you up until you are a mere shadow, but it won't kill you, you'll have to live on. And it won't go away, it will be with you for life.

Clive had been so happy for a few months he went on, just out of simple inertia, for a couple of weeks more. _«Tomorrow»_ , he'd say to himself _«I'll do something about it tomorrow.»_ And as tomorrow turned inevitably into yesterday and he hadn't done a thing, he'd repeat the same thought. The seed of guilt was already there, though. Lurking in the shadow of his most intimate thoughts, waiting. Guilt has time on its side.

And then the nightmares had begun.

*******

He was standing in a trench. He could even tell the the place, he knew exactly where it was. It was dark, but not night dark, just cloudy and rainy, and there was a thick, almost solid fog mixing with smoke and dust, dense like soup. The stench of death, and rot, and gun powder, and gas was all around, filling his lungs, sickening, sticking to the back of his throat. He coughed, but it didn't really work.

There were muffled explosions, the distant rattle of machine guns, the sinister droning of bullets overhead, he could even feel people scuttling about, yet there was an eerie silence around him, as if he was under water, and he was all alone. He was overcome by the dispair and hopeless misery he had grown familiar with during the War, an immense fatigue making him heavy and useless. He was cold and drenched from the persistent drizzle, and something was running down his face, sweat maybe, or rain, so he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. It felt sticky. He looked at his hands: they were filthy, covered in dark, glutinous blood, and he rubbed them on is equally dirty uniform. Then he saw her. Anne. She was standing a few yards away from him, clean and luminous in the disgusting trench, wearing her flowery silk Parisian dress and her dark curls bobbed short the way she had taken to wear them since the summer, her discreet make up and a sweet smile. She looked so dreamlike and utterly desirable his heart leapt. She called out his name in that special way she had, and Clive wanted to answer, but his voice wouldn't come out. He tried to join her, only to find out the mud was sucking his feet, and he could hardly take a few steps, pulling with all his might.

Suddenly, the ground felt different under his feet, not the gooey, slippery mud, but soft, and he almost tripped over it. He had to look down, trying to chose the path, and he saw Robert, laying on the muddy ground, half sunk in the disgusting mud, but looking up at him, his brown eyes wide with love and fear, and Clive knew he would have to step on Robert to go to Anne, and he couldn't make himself do it, he simply couldn't...

\- No... - he managed to say in a low, raspy voice – No, I cannot do this, no...

\- Wake up, sir! It's a dream, sir, just a bad dream, please wake up!

The dream dissolved and he opened his eyes to the warm darkness of his London room. His heart was beating fast and out of compass, his breath shallow and uneven. He felt Robert beside him, alive, breathing, shaking him softly.

\- No... - he pleaded, when the young man stretched a searching hand to the bedside table, to turn on the light – Please, don't...

Robert held him close, pulling Clive's head to lean on him and whispering soft words of comfort that chased the last tendrils of the awful dream still lingering in his memory.

\- It's over, sir, it was just a nightmare, it's all over now. I'm here with you, sir, I'll always be here when you need me. That's it, sir, you rest your head and I'll watch over you. You go back to sleep, everything will be right in the morning, sir...

Clive's heart steadied it's beat, his breathing returned gradualy to normal and his eyes closed, heavy with sleep. He nestled in the warmth of Robert's arms and the familiar scents of home, waxed wood floor, soap and lavender from the bedclothes and the mingled smell of their bodies, clean sweat, freshly ironed linen and sex as he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*******

Winter had been rather mild and spring was approaching, but Clive's health did not progress with the seasons. Not only his shoulder was not better, but it actually seemed to be getting worse. After the extraordinary improvement it had shown following the week in France, the pains had returned. Even Doctor Hoper was surprised at first.

\- I don't know! I can see no reason for it, you move you arm much better than you did last year. Still, if you feel pain, there is pain. This is not an exact science, Clive...

Clive had heard the bad news with a half smile.

\- I'll have to make do, then. It'll be the beatings and the pills again, I suppose... - Hoper could hear the bitterness through the apparently casual tone.

\- What's the matter with you, Clive? What's eating you up? Your heart rate is a bit faster than I'd like it to be.

\- I expect I'm working too hard. I knew I was going to regret being elected, but I'll have to carry it till the end. Can't back off now, it wouldn't be fair...

The lie was so evident the doctor didn't react. He had seen it happen a lot since the War, men so ridden with guilt they hated themselves for being alive while their friends had been killed. Clive had seemed better for the last few years, but he had seen other men relapse into that guilt induced self destruction.

\- Do you still keep a journal? - he asked, apparently changing subjects.

\- Not really – Clive lied – I write a few pages now and then, nothing regular. Why do you ask?

\- Go back to it, then. Regularly, I mean. A few lines every day, make a routine of it like you had before. Doctor's orders... - and lowering his voice – Fight the dark mood, Clive! Remember all the good you've got, remember your wife, remember your children. Do it for them, if you won't do it for you.

\- I'm having nightmares again... - he confessed.

There was no way of hiding it from the doctor, Anne knew it, Robert knew it, the doctor would have found it out soon enough. He wanted the pain to stop.

\- All the more reason to go back to your journaling habits. It helped last time.

He had resumed physiotherapy and the nightly bandaging, but the results were shy, and painkillers re-entered his routine. Anne had restarted her regular phone calls during his absence, to confer with Robert. They shared their concerns, yet none could find an answer.

\- The problem, ma'am, is that Mr. Durham won't eat properly. I've tried everything, believe me. I've ordered from his favourite restaurant, I've cooked myself, even Mrs Allen has tried... It's useless.

Clive had no appetite, and was getting thinner and tired even easier than before. Robert was successful in making him eat a little, but always just a little. If he was given a full plate, he'd scatter the food around the plate, and eat less than half of it. To Robert's worries, he'd answer with a faint smile.

\- I'm not hungry. Maybe later... Don't worry, please, I'll have some more later.

Clive knew it was all in his mind. Guilt had grown around his life, coiling through every moment of hapiness like a poisonous creeper around a tree, never letting him feel completely at ease. It was taking its toll. He was having nightmares again, and there was no way of concealing that fact, neither from Anne nor from Robert. If only he could talk about it!

*******

Maybe Hoper was right. He had been right before. Writting might help. Things would look less threatening if he could write them down. How simple life had seemed back in Cambridge, when he could leaf through his Plato and find an answer. He had so many certainties then. _**The sole excuse for any relationship between men is that it remain purely platonic**_. He could hear himself say it, a distant echo of his younger self. Saying it to Maurice. To Maurice's truth filled eyes...

His notebook lay open on the desk, a blank page waiting. Clive still had a few certainties, even if they were only there to confuse him further. He might as well write them down.

_Maurice_

_They're back. The nightmares are back. Not as frequent as they were, but they are far worse than before. Back then it was terrible, but I woke up and things came back to normal. It was a relief to wake up. Now they stay with me._

_I don't remember them, not completely anyway, it's just a dull pain, fear, misery. Anne wakes me up. Or Robert. And I know it is about the two of them, about Anne and Robert._

_So, you see, I can't really let it go when I awake._

In town, he delayed going to bed. Robert waited patiently to bandage his shoulder, made him soothing cups of tea with honey, hugged him softly till he slept, but nothing seemed to work, and he'd wake up at odd hours every few nights, moaning in pain, not knowing exactly where he was.

At home in Pendersleigh he took half a pill, and he still had the dreams. Anne comforted him with the same sweet words she'd used for the children, her hands softly caressing his hair.

_They both care so much for me, they are both so sweet and patient! I ought to be glad, after all how many men are loved this much? But the only thing I can think about is how I am a shocking and depraved creature who can do nothing but threaten the happiness of every life I touch._

_The more they love and care for me, the guiltier I feel for deceiving both of them, for not being able to chose and therefore endangering all of us. The irony of it all! Back in '20 I was glad to be alive, now I ask myself if the world woudn't be a better place if I had died from that last wound..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit in bold lettering is taken from the ruins of my Penguin 1988 edition of E. M. Forster's Maurice.


	18. Easter Week at home (March / April 1926)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne and Clive walk narrow paths (different but close to each other) and they almost meet. «Almost» may still be as large and as deep as an ocean though.

Anne had been rather ignorant of the physical side of marriage when she married. Having grown with no mother and having no sisters nor older female relations she had had to figure it all out on her own. Her only source of information had been the novels she read, so she had entered marriage with the most romantic expectations and next to no actual knowledge. She knew married couples were expected to share a bed at least occasionaly and the marriage would eventually produce children, but that was about the sum of it. On her wedding night, the whole deed had seemed rather scary, but Clive had been so sweet and patient she had been determined to wait and see, so to speak. In the end, it had turned out to be perfectly bearable. By then, she had tought that ignorant she might be, but she wasn't stupid! If the novels were at least half true to life, there had to be something more to it than «perfectly bearable».

The first years of her marriage had been like living in an enchanted bubble, where nothing was real and life wasn't actually life. When she tought about those years, she had the strange impression of having been playing an elaborate game, like a child pretending to be a grown up while deep down knowing nobody believes the charade, and other people just humour her because she is a pampered little girl. She remembered very little of it afterwards.

Then, of course, the War had started and she had found out she was pregnant. Oh, it had been an education! The enchanted bubble had popped, and the world outside was crumbling down. She had been left alone, pregnant with the first child she'd miscarry, living with the daily fear of finding in the morning post delivery the dreaded notice of her husband's death.

In the end it all boiled down to this: she knew there had to be something different about Clive. She had known it for years, ever since the War. She had sensed something even before, right from the very start, only she had been so ignorant back then she couldn't even put a name to it. But she felt it.

Then during the War, she had done some voluntary war work, with groups of other women, mostly middle class, educated women, and women talked. Packing blankets and warm clothes, they talked mainly about the husbands, the brothers, the sweethearts away at war. Those talks lacked the refinement she had been taught to appreciate in others, yet she had examined her own refinement and found it to be something she could do without sometimes. Mostly when it simply meant there were things one did not discuss, even if the lack of discussion brought only misery and relentless doubts. Talking a little and listening a lot, she had confirmed that Clive was different from other women's husbands. The thing was, he was better. He was sweeter, gentler, much more considerate and patient. But though he loved her dearly, he wasn't completely happy and had never been: there was something missing.

He never complained, he was still the sweet, loving and patient man she had married. The War had changed him, but not in that way. He still loved her tenderly, he was an adoring father, he was flawless. But she knew there was something missing.

She had insisted he should take Robert with him to London for various important reasons. First, for her own peace of mind. Robert was trustworthy and she knew he would take care of Clive. Then, for his health. Clive wasn't as strong as he believed and had a way of losing himself in whatever he was doing. Finally because Robert was an affectionate boy, and in an obscure way, though she could not explain it, her instinct told her Clive needed another kind of relationship, of human connection, one she could not give him.

During the first few months she had almost regreted it. Clive's health had resented the long sitting hours in Parliament and the lack of a healthy routine. His pains had increased and he had nearly grown addicted to painkiller drugs. In the end, and to her great relief, her instinct had proved right. Robert made sure he slept his eight hours and had four meals a day. Physiotherapy had done wonders for his bad shoulder. Clive missed home but had his own life in London and seemed to like it just as well. Separation actually appeared to make him grow more affectionate: when he came home for the weekend he took time to play with the children, to read to them, to take long walks with her, and he had a healthy appetite. In more ways than one, she thought, blushing, her thoughts taking her to the summer week at Juan-les-Pins, when she had at last found out what was not written, but only very faintly hinted in the novels.

She remembered the day they had arrived home. She had never been so happy, had never felt so fulfilled. She had a wonderful husband, two lovely children, a comfortable home, and enough interests to keep her occupied.There was nothing more she could wish for. Except, maybe, for it to go on forever, she found out when Clive began to have nightmares again, to scatter his food around the plate, and to look absent-minded. She still couldn't put a name to it but whatever it was, it was threatening everything she had gained over her years with Clive. She couldn't lose him again, not after having experienced what happiness with him could be like!

*******

It was still rather cold, but the sun and the clear blue sky made it bearable. Robert had sugested driving him to the train first, and then driving to Pendersleigh on his own, but Clive had refused. He wanted to breathe the fresh air, to be able to stop along the way, to have Robert with him.

He was bundled up in his warmest overcoat, woolen gloves and muffler, and was feeling pefectly comfortable.

\- We'll be arriving long before noon, sir!

\- Go by the village, then, if you please, Robert. Mrs. Durham will be leaving class at noon, let's surprise her.

He knew it was one of Anne's mornings as assistant teacher, and he had long wanted to catch her at work. Robert laughed and turned right instead of left.

\- Mrs. Durham will like that, I'm sure, sir! I only wish you were looking a little less tired...

Soon he was parking close to the church. Clive took a look at his watch.

\- It's a quarter to. Won't you get too cold waiting?

Robert was helping him out of the car.

\- No, sir! It's really warm here in the sun. You take your time...

Noiselessly he entered the building. He carefully took off his shoes and put on a pair of the grey felt slippers that lay on a small basket, for visitors. Slowly, silently, he opened the rose coloured door and looked in.

The small class was in full working mode. There was a soft buzz of children's half muffled voices, but no real noise. On the teacher's desk, a small gramophone was playing some calm bit of Mozart he instantly recognised though he didn't remember the exact title. The soft spring sunlight drew a square golden patch on the polished wooden floor were three little girls, in white pinafores and colurfull felt slippers sat completely engaged in the momentous task of building something with wooden blocks.

Some more little girls were sitting at a table in the far end of the room, tracing letters with coloured pencils on paper. Irene and two other girls were absorbed in counting wooden beads around another table, with the help of Miss Collier.

On the blackboard he could read, in somewhat crooked but legible print capitals, EAT YOUR GREENS. Under the written advice there were a couple of children's drawings depicting the happiness of eating one's greens: three persons, drawn with amazing detail, even if the result was a little surreal, with huge toothy smiles on their round faces.

Then he saw Anne. She was kneeling on the floor, in a corner, surrounded by some four or five girls, reading from a book. She wore a blue woolen dress and a pink gingham pinafore over it. Her short curls were kept away from her face with a white ribbon. With her rosy cheeks and her bright eyes she looked very, very young indeed. Clive would have hardly believed she would turn thirty five in a few months, if he hadn't known it. How perfect she was, and how lucky he felt for being married to her! His heart warmed at the sight, and for a moment that was enough to chase the guilt and self loathing that consumed him at all times.

Anne's voice carried gently over both the music and the buzzing of the litlle class, sweet and clear.

_«Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate._

_He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe amongst the potatoes._

_After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.»_

\- Oh, dear! - pipped one of the little girls.

Anne stoped her reading and turned the book to show the picture of Peter caught in the gooseberry net. The little heads gathered around to look and the squeaky voices made themselves heard.

\- Poor Peter!

\- Well, Marie, he was being naughty...

\- Oh, but he won't get caught, will he?

The church clock began tolling twelve. In an instant the little girls put away whatever they were doing. Anne looked up and saw Clive. Amidst the growning noise of little excited voices, she kept her eyes on him, while she herded the girls in two almost straight lines and led them to the door. Miss Collier was tidding up her desk and carefully keeping the record in its jacket.

Clive backed off a little, to let the door free. In the hall there was the comforting hubbub of mothers, gandmothers and aunties helping their children put on warm coats and changing from slippers into street shoes. Someone pulled at his overcoat.

\- Daddy! I'm going to Aunt Clarice's for lunch, just give me a kiss!

He broke eye contact with Anne, to bend down and kiss Irene.

\- Hello, my Bug! How tall you are!

A big smile put dimples in her flushed cheeks.

\- I know, isn't it great? Bye now, I must go!

And she walked away following Marie and Emily. When Clive looked back up, Anne was still standing in the middle of the sunlit room looking at him with a sweet, loving smile on her face.

\- Welcome to our school, Mr. Durham! How do you like it?

It was Miss Collier. He shook her hand.

\- I am sorry for barging in unannouced, but I wanted to catch Anne at work. I haven't had the opportunity before... – he winked at the young teacher, who smiled back – It's a beautiful room, Miss Collier. And it is amazing how well behaved the girls are.

\- Children like a calm surrounding, and the music helps to calm then down as well. And you'll find out they are a bit noisier in the afternoons... Well, I'm off to lunch. Will you close the door for me, please, Anne?

Anne seamed to snap out of her dreamy state.

\- Yes, of course. I'll leave the key in the usual place. Oh, and don't forget to come to Pendersleigh for tea on Easter Monday. Clarice will be there with the children, and Clive too...

Miss Collier buttoned up her coat and straighted her beret before answering.

\- Thank you, I'll be there. Have a good holiday. See you on monday, then.

They were alone in the hall. Anne untied the ribbons on her pinafore and hung it behind the classroom door. Then she covered her face with her hands and sobbed slightly. Clive thought she was crying, and held her.

\- Don't cry, Anne... What is it?

But she lifted her face, her eyes shinning.

\- Oh Clive, I'm not crying. I'm just so happy to see how good you look! I've been so worried about you lately...

Clive helped her put on her coat and watched her arrange her knitted blue beret on her short curls. She then closed the classroom door, turned out the light in the hall and they left, closing the door behing them and leaving the key under a flower pot. Robert was standing by the car's open door.

\- Good-afternoon, Mrs. Durham.

\- Godd-afternoon, Robert. What a wonderful surprise this was. Thank you so much!

\- Why, not at all, ma'am... there is nothing to thank me for...

Anne sat on the back seat and squeezed Clive's arm, before answering.

\- Oh, but there is, Robert, there is. He is looking splendid!

Clive was left under the impression that Anne and Robert shared some secret he wasn't part of, and that didn't bother him. That same night, when he got into bed beside her, Anne slipped a warm hand under his pyjama top and his vest, ran her fingers in a caress down his chest and whispered:

\- You are getting too skinny again, Clive. I worry, you know? You had almost nothing at dinner, I noticed.

Still basking in the warmth of the unexpected caress, he answered, distracted:

\- I wasn't really hungry...

\- Robert tells me you are never hungry lately. You must make an effort to eat, my dear. We don't want you to come down with something, do we? What does Doctor Hoper say?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne is reading from The tale of Peter Rabbit, taken from here: http://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/148/peter-rabbit-and-other-stories/4923/the-tale-of-peter-rabbit/


	19. May 1926

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The muddle thickens. Clive cannot make his mind up, is thorn by guilt and doubts and Robert is worried. At last, Clive realizes how cruel he was to Maurice... Little bits of fluff scattered here and there.

He is in the trenches again. The muddy ground pulls him down and he has to almost exert himself to take a few steps. The fog mixed with smoke and gas is almost solid, and grabs at him like thousands of desperate hands. He is lost. He moves his hands around but everything he touches is cold, sticky, and soft, like rotting corpses, and the smell is appalling. Somehow, he knows Robert is there somewhere, and he calls out for him, but all he hears in return are his children's voices «Daddy! Daddy!», and the thought of Leslie and Irene in the middle of the mud and the rattle of the machine guns is unbearable. He is sick, tired, confused, he wants to get out of there but his feet won't move, the children are calling...

\- Wake up, sir!

Clive opened his eyes to the silvery half light of a mid spring early morning. The first thing he saw was Robert's anxious face.

\- Oh sir, you were dreaming again!

Clive's heart was still beating fast. He was quickly forgeting the nightmare, but the smell and the despair clung a little longer in his mind. Robert was looking at him, eyes full of love and worry.

\- What is it, sir? What's troubling you? Is it anything I've done?

These last words brought Clive back to earth.

\- No, my dear, no, you've done nothing wrong. You are perfect.

\- Then what is it troubling you, sir?

\- There's nothing troubling me, Robert. It was just a nightmare. I've had them on and off since the War, you know that...

Robert's hand covered his mouth. He saw a spark of pain in the young man's brown eyes.

\- Don't lie to me, sir. Please don't. It wasn't just a nightmare...

Clive pulled him in a passionate kiss. How could he tell the truth if he didn't know it himself? The agony of choice, yes, but how could he tell Robert that?

\- I am not lying, you impudent boy! How dare you...? - his voice was pleasant and light-hearted – There is nothing troubling me, as far as I know. Maybe I'm tired, with all the extra sessions. And I'm certainly anxious with this impending General Strike thing...

Robert knew at once the right mood for confessions had passed. He let Clive pull him, and smiled in the most carefree way he managed. There was something very bad troubling Mr. Durham, he was sure of it. He wished he could help, but there was nothing he could do if Mr. Durham didn't tell what was the trouble.

A distant bell sounded a muted eight o'clock and he sat up, his smile now clear and loving at the sight of Clive stretching lazily. Tenderly, his careful fingers traced the scar on the man's shoulder, as if a caress could erase it. In his head, Robert had rehearsed this talk a few times, but now all the words seemed to have vanished from his mind. Only his loving hands appeared to know exactly what to do, softly caressing the scar on Clive's shoulder and then moving slowly up, to trace the curve of his neck and the lines of his face. He bent down to cuddle a little bit more.

\- You are so beautiful, sir! - he whispered, his lips touching the man's skin right above the scar – No wound could ever make you less beautiful, because it comes from within you, sir.

Clive felt a soft twinge in his gut. It was almost frightening to be loved like that by someone so young!

\- Robert, I'm so much older than you...

\- I don't care, sir. Honestly, I don't care. I'd still love you if you were old enough to be my father, sir.

Clive let his right hand cup the young man's face. He looked straight into the clear brown eyes.

\- You are so young! You deserve someone your age, someone whole and healthy like you. I'm a wreck, Robert. I'm broken and damaged in so many ways...!

\- Don't say that, sir! Don't put yourself down like that...!

\- Still, you are way too young...

Robert sat up again. His face was suddenly rather solemn, he even had a slight frown.

\- I am sorry, sir, but that is not true. I am old enough to marry, to work, to be in the army, to go to war, to go to jail. Why wouldn't I be old enough to fall in love with you?

Clive sighed with a smile. Robert and his impeccable logic! Light was now coming in through a slit between the dark curtains. Weightless specks of golden dust danced in the thin arrow of light. From the street bellow came the faint sounds of city life awakening, the cars, the people, even the twitering of the omnipresent sparrows.

\- It's saturday. Let's just stay in bed all day...! I don't want to think about anything but you...

Robert's slight frown intensified.

\- You must have your breakfast, sir! You have to eat something....

\- I'm not hungry.

\- Still you must eat. Mrs. Durham was very particular about that, sir, and she's right too.

He planted a quick peck on Clive's lips and jumped out of bed, grabed his pyjama top and his dressing gown and walked to the door before Clive could say anything.

\- You make yourself pretty and I'll be back with breakfast in no time.

*******

Preparing breakfast, Robert knew there was something brewing beneath the calm. He knew Mr. Durham was in that dark place again. It wasn't the first, indeed it wasn't even the tenth time Robert had been woken up by his ragged voice, and had seen him in the clutches of some fearsome nightmare, his hands trying to keep away unseen terrors.

He simply touched his face, and called softly «It's a dream, sir, just a bad dream. I'm here with you...» and most times Mr. Durham calmed down and curled up in his arms like a scared child. In the morning he didn't remember anything. A few times it had happened again in the early morning, like that saturday morning.

All men who had been to the War had brought home a part of that darkness inside them, it seemed. He recalled the distant day when Mr. Durham had arrived home, after the end of the War. His mother was drawing the curtains to let in the golden autumn sun and she had stoped to look at something outside.

\- Oh, that poor young lady...!

He was at home then, polishing the dining table with all his might. He had finished school and hadn't found a position yet, so he was helping his mother in any way he could.

\- What is it, mother?

\- Oh, my dear, it's poor Mrs. Durham bringing her husband home! How frail he looks, and haunted too! - she turned away from the window – No dear, don't go look, don't prey, it's not nice...! He's just like our Alfred, very thin, big eyes, and that look... you know.

Robert did know. He was already used to finding his brother sitting on the bed, tears rolling down his face, eyes unfocused, and hands trembling.

\- Sometimes, I think William and John were the lucky ones. God forgive me! At least they don't have to live with that dark place inside them...!

He had kept these words in his memory. It was better to be dead than to carry such darkness in your mind. And now his own beloved Mr. Durham was in that dark place again. Robert had worked to get him out of it, and had nearly done it, but somehow he hadn't done enough.

He gave a final look at the breakfast tray. Steaming teapot, two cups, the little milk jug, no sugar needed, two covered plates of eggs, sausages and fried tomatoes, buttered toast and strawberry jam. Everything was in its right place, and everything looked and smelled wonderfully. He had to make Mr. Durham eat something, even if it meant bending his own rules and having breakfast in bed with him.

*******

He opened his notebook and stared at the blank page. The date at the top of the page stared back at him. May the 2nd , Sunday. General strike bound to begin the next day, his life in a muddle, Robert in the kitchen, having chosen to stay in on his day out, preparing to serve Sunday lunch he had just ordered from the usual restaurant, all the familiar and beloved little noises of his London week-ends mixing with the fear of whatever lay ahead. In the afternoon he would telephone Anne, talk to her and the children, calm Anne's anxiety regarding the general strike, later Robert would serve the tea...

Clive was trying to postpone the inevitable. And yet he knew the situation could not go on. Every day he let it drag put them all a few steps closer to the abyss. Still, he did nothing, mainly because he had no idea of what to do. He didn't want to hurt anyone he loved in the process. He had hurt Maurice all those years ago and it still haunted him, he woudn't do it again.

_Maurice_

He wrote the first word and he felt the sting of remorse. Only now he could measure the full horror of the blow he had given to his poor friend.

_The truth is that I love them all. Robert, Anne, the children. I cannot chose. And yet I have to chose.And yet there is only one possible choice for me._

He loved Robert, but this was beyond love, just like the feelings he had for Anne and for his children. Even though the admission of the truth made him smile, his feelings made the whole situation even more unbearable. This thought made him smile yet again, in spite of the pain of it all. He was thinking about degrees of unbearable, how stupid was that. There was no way to a painless solution.

 _I'll have to break his heart. Just like I broke yours. I love him and I'll have to break his heart._ _I loved you, and I broke your heart. It would seem I am condemned to do the same, over and over. And once again Anne will be the innocent cause of my cruelty. My sweet Anne, who would never be cruel herself._

What could he do? How was he to avoid breaking everything around him?

_I cannot hurt Anne, I cannot hurt the children. You see, I love them too, and they are completely innocent. Come what may, they must never suffer._

That much was clear in his mind. Anne and the children must be kept safe. They were innocent. On the other hand, though, what was Robert guilty of? And was he, Clive, guilty of anything? Yes, certainly, he was breaking his marriage vows, betraying his wife and children with... The idea, once recognised, was immediately repulsive to his mind. It was not the question of guilt, there was no guilt except the one he made himself feel. Still, neither Anne nor the children could be made to suffer. All the burden would have to fall again on Clive and on the man he loved. They were men, they could take it.

_Robert is very young. He's strong, he's amazingly strong. He'll recover, he'll forget. After all, he deserves someone who can love him alone and devote entirely to him._

He hoped it was true. He cared nothing for himself. He didn't stop to think he would be carrying the same heavy burden. The thought that he seemed condemned to awake the men he fell in love with, provide them with the wings and then watch them fly higher than he would ever allow himself to fly, only crossed his mind as he searched for the less painful way of setting Robert on his wings. He didn't give a thought to the fact that he would be left alone in the dark valley to contemplate from afar the sunlight he'd never feel on his skin. Love made him almost heroic, and certainly selfless.

_I'm going to lose him. Like I lost you._

The idea of loss was so terrible he had to pause his writing. He was going to lose Robert. To lose Robert. Lose the soft, sweet voice, all the loving care the young man lavished on him, lose the closeness with another man, that bond of body and soul he had craved for during so many years, all the little happy and intimate moments, lose hearth and home to come back to each day. Lose everything that made his life in London bearable. And after that, he must go on living in London, alone, desperately alone, with nothing but the remembrance of what he had lost and the hope of going home for some weekends.

Immediately he remembered how Maurice had lived like that for over a year. No, he thought, ashamed and horrified, it had been worse for his friend, much worse. Clive had Anne, and the children, and a political career, a position of some power, where he could aspire to do some good. Maurice had been left all alone in a hostile world that meant nothing to him, that had nothing to give him, and had carried the burden of going on and pretending nothing had happened. Maurice had had no weekends.

 


	20. June 1926

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clive would never know what had prompted Robert to take that unexpected decision, that annoucement that fell on him like a thunderstorm in a cloudless day.

The general strike had passed and things stayed the same. Nothing much had come out of it. Clive had always though of himself as a true conservative, but he was beginning to have doubts. The problem with adopting a political view as a whole, is that sooner or later one begins to see the flaws. Clive believed himself a consevative because it was the thing to be if you had property, or wasn't it? His years in Parliament had shown him the inconsistencies, the holes in the fabric of his supposed beliefs. He was beginning to see things under a different light, now he had the privilege of looking through Robert's eyes.

\- Even the King said we should try living on their wages before we judge them, sir. I heard it on the wireless, I think. And there's a point in that. How is a man expected to support his family with half of what he earned before the War?

\- Things are difficult for every one, Robert...

\- Maybe it is as you say, sir, but things are certainly more difficult for the poor. These men fought by your side, sir. They are not asking for the moon, just a decent living wage. Don't you believe every man deserves that?

\- Are you a socialist, Robert?

\- Me, sir? No, I don't know enough for that. I'm little more than a boy, really... But if you drive men to despair, they'll do no matter what. People who have no hope, have no fear either, sir, they have nothing to lose... Those who hold the power cannot ask for everything and give nothing in return.

Clive kept those words in his memory, along with the talk he'd had with Leslie one weekend, right before the strike.

\- What is a strike, daddy?

\- It's when the workers won't work. Not because it is Sunday, or because it is holiday, but because they voluntarily stop working.

\- And why do they stop?

\- To protest. They complain they can't feed their families with what they earn...They say their wages are too low and their working hours too long.

\- And are they, daddy? The wages low and the hours long, I mean.

Clive thought about his answer for a few seconds. He knew he couldn't lie to Leslie.

\- I suppose so, yes...

Leslie's brown eyes were full of conviction when he asked back.

\- Well, daddy, if they don't earn enough to feed their families in spite of working long hours, how do government people expect them to behave and stay calm?

The child's impeccable logic made him think of Robert. How hard it was to hold those honest gazes!

\- It's is lot more complicated, really. There are many things at risk here, you wouldn't understand. Even I don't understand it completely.

\- Oh... I see...

Clive would never forget the look on his son's face. Leslie was a calm little boy and wouldn't dream of engaging in a quarrel with his beloved father, but it was plain he was deeply convinced of the workers' reasons to strike.

Still, the strike came and went, and things were pretty much the same. Only Clive felt more aware than ever of how powerless he was to do anyhting of significance. Were his convictions right, as he had been brought up to belive? Were his convicitions his own? Did he really believe in what he was used to take for certain?

*******

Clive was still stalled in his own private dilemma. It was consuming him: he had nightmares, insomnia, nausea, terrible headaches. Robert was beside himself with worry and Clive didn't know what to do. He'd soon be returning to Pendersleigh for the summer, and would love to repeat the week at Juan-les-Pins with Anne, but needed to find a way out of the terrible situation he had created for himself. He couldn't go on leading a double life, he couldn't make himself chose Anne and the children over Robert and he certainly couldn't chose Robert over Anne and the children.

In the end, he didn't have to do anything. Robert did it all, the way he always did everything. Because that was in Robert's nature to care, to take responsibility, to spare the others. It wasn't even noble or brave, he did it naturally. Robert had been turning his worry around in his mind, and had come to the innevitable conclusion: he had to be the problem. Mr. Durham felt divided between Robert and his family.

He had never even given it a though until then, as it was no problem to him. Mr. Durham had his wife and children, and Robert was perfectly happy with it. Only Mr. Durham apparently was not. And if Mr. Durham wasn't perfectly happy with the situation, there was only one thing Robert could do to make it right: he would have to go away. Not that he wanted to, but he loved Clive enough to let him go if it was what he needed. It was as simple as that.

Clive would never know what had prompted Robert to take that unexpected decision, that annoucement that fell on him like a thunderstorm in a cloudless day. He had just finished breakfast and was reading Anne's weekly letter over his last cup of tea.

_My darling Clive_

_I must begin by telling you how much the children loved receiving your post cards. It made them feel so important! Just imagine: having their own mail delivered with breakfast! Irene was beside herself with joy and even Fox and Jerry had to take part in her happiness, because now she can read the card by herself, and it arrived on her birthday too. Leslie looked very serious and solemn, and said nothing, but his rosy cheeks told all the story._

_As I write, both post cards are kept as their most precious treasures, though each one has a unique way of expressing it. Leslie's is marking the book he's been reading. Irene's is on her bedside table, propped against your framed photograph and I just overheard her threatening Fox with some obnoxious punishment if he dares touch it._

_The weather has been lovely, and Leslie has been out every day to run with Jerry, and teach him new tricks, though he always takes a book and a sandwich with him, besides a few dog biscuits. He's growing so fast! I sometimes miss the solemn little man he used to be._

_In our Montessori class it's been harvest time. With Miss Collier's help, the girls dug out the potatoes, the turnips and the carrots. You should see their faces when real potatoes, and turnips, and carrots came out of the earth! They had a wonderful time, made lots of noise, they all got healthily dusty, and the vegetables were taken to the Rectory's kitchen. The next day Clarice, Miss Collier, myself and the girls, under Clarice's cook supervision, washed, peeled and cut them to make a huge pot of stew, and all the families were invited for lunch as it was Saturday. Oh, it was great fun!_

The letter went on, but Clive had felt something in the air, and looked up to find Robert standing by his side, very solemn and still.

\- Yes, Robert...?

\- Might I have a word with you, sir? After you've finished your letter...

His tone had sounded so alien to Clive, he immediately put the letter aside.

\- Please, sit down. What is it? - all kinds of frightening thoughts came to his mind.

Robert didn't sit down. He stood, very straight, his face blank and his voice flat and subdued.

\- I'll be giving my two weeks notice soon, sir.

Clive was so dumbstruck he could think of nothing to say for a couple of minutes. Then, he could only ask:

\- Why, Robert?

He sounded so deeply hurt, Robert couldn't keep his cold facade anymore. He crouched by Clive's chair and took his hands.

\- It's all because of me, sir, isn't it? The nightmares, the headaches, you not eating... I ought to have known sooner, sir! Please don't look so sad, please! It's all for the best, sir, can't you see?

\- But what are you going to do? Where will you go?

All of Robert's pretense coldness was gone. He kept Clive's hand in his and looked straight into his eyes.

\- Oh, I'll go away, sir, don't worry! I'd never stay close, I wouldn't be able to... I won't put your reputation at risk, sir, I'd never do that! My brother's former CO is going to the Middle East in a mission, and then to Malta. He needs a valet who can drive as well, and he asked Alfred, but of course Alfred won't go, he isn't well enough... He'll take me if Alfred gives him a word...

Clive felt like a man might feel who, in the middle of an agreable afternoon walk in a flowery spring meadow, was surprised by a snowstorm. He felt the warmth of Robert's hand holding his, he was trying to coordenate his toughts and make sense of Robert's words, but the impression of how absurd it all was didn't quite leave him. He had not prepared for this.

\- Why are you doing this, Robert? Do you really want to go?

\- No, sir. But I have to. You'll never be free of what's eating you up while I'm here. You let it eat you up because you are too good to tell me to leave. It can't go on much longer without others noticing. I love you too much to ruin your life, sir, so I must go.

The letter full of happy news lay on the table, abandoned and forgotten. They embraced, Robert almost kneeling and Clive all bent over him, and stood like that for some long and painful minutes, not daring to break the embrace. Clive felt a knot inside, as if all the pain of the future separation had condensed around his heart, desperatly wanting to ask Robert to stay, and knowing he couldn't do it.

\- What about your parents, Robert? What will they say?

\- Oh, I'll think of something to tell them. They have Alfred and Beth with them now. And it will be only for a year or two, I'll come back eventually... - he looked up to meet Clive's eyes – It's all for the best, sir, really.

\- But you don't want to go...!

\- I'll make myself want it, sir, if I know it's for your safety. I can do it.

When Robert left the room carrying the breakfast things, Clive sat there, lost, empty and hurt. Anne's letter was still on the table. He picked it up, mechanically.

_Irene's birthday tea was at the school. She asked if we could ask Cook to bake her a sponge cake to share with all her little friends at school, and that's what we did. Baynes drove me there with the cake, and all the girls sang Happy Birthday. She loved it!_

He could read no more. The words made no sense. He closed his eyes, thinking. Nothing made much sense anymore. His political career was of no significance. He was no longer certain of his beliefs. He was losing Robert. Was this how Maurice had felt back then? Oh, it hurt so much!

***

Clive lay in bed, wide awake, his eyes open in the dark. He could hear Robert's soft breathing beside him, sleeping soundly, one arm flung over Clive's waist. After the shock of that announcement, some two weeks ago, life had regained it's normal pace, as if nothing had happened. Sometimes he'd even let himself think it had all been an ilusion, maybe he had only dreamed it, though deep inside he knew it was the hard reality.

This was their last night together. In the morning they would repeat their morning routines for the last time, have breakfast and leave for the summer. Robert's two weeks notice would begin to count in the morning. So this was the end. Robert slept, his heart heavy but his conscience at peace, for he was doing the right thing, saving the man he loved from danger, sparing him the burden of decision, the agony of choice. Clive lay awake, trying to capture each detail of Robert's breathing, the smell of his skin, the feeling of warmth and safety he experienced beside the young man, absurdly hoping that his refuse to sleep would delay the inevitable.

Late June nights, alas, are short. He heard the distant bells ring two, then three, then four, and then he saw the pale light of summer dawn begin to grow, the first rays of sunlight on the wall, the full brightness of the summer morning make its way through the curtains. Robert stirred, nestled closer against him, drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes.

\- Good-morning, sir...!

 


	21. June 1926 (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne had just left Clive in his study, staring at a blank page in his journal, eyes unfocused and looking completely broken. He'd only been able to inform her that Robert was leaving. He had given his two week notice. No explanation.

Anne had just left Clive in his study, staring at a blank page in his journal, eyes unfocused and looking completely broken. He'd only been able to inform her that Robert was leaving. He had given his two week notice. No explanation. The children were playing outside and hadn't been told anything.

She crossed the hall and looked at the mirror that hung next to the door, where she usually checked how she looked and adjusted her hat before leaving, and saw her own face, a belligerent flicker in her eyes. Maybe she was stronger than Clive thought. And maybe Irene had gotten her recklessness from her mother after all. She faced herself and sustained a brief one sided conversation with her reflex.

_Clive looks wretched and Robert is packing, though he too looks broken-hearted. He's given Clive his two week notice, and is going to leave. This is all wrong and I cannot let it happen._

Her twin on the mirror looked brave enough to face an army. She smiled encouragingly.

_Some time ago, during one of Clive's stays, I saw Robert bandaging Clive's shoulder. I happened to be passing by and the door wasn't even closed. I didn't sneak, I would never do that, it was just a coincidence. They didn't know I was there at the door, they were perfectly relaxed. They looked so well together! In the end, Robert made the final turns of the bandage, secured it with a safety pin, and covered the pin with a strip of plaster. He does this every night but I had never stopped to observe. Robert is so careful! In the end, he just said «There you are, sir, all nice and cosy.» Clive looked up and smiled. They love each other, I'm certain, it was in their eyes._

She had been certain of it in a split second. And the knowledge had filled her with a sudden relief, a kind of serene warmth. The other Anne looked at her with eyes full of confidence: her heart was in the right place, and she was doing the right thing.

_I knew I was supposed to feel disgusted, appalled and betrayed. Yet, I felt none of those things. All I could think about was how well they looked together. It was reassuring and beautiful. Clive looked perfectly happy, just like he looked when we walked together along the promenade at Juan-Les-Pins holding hands. I had sometimes felt there was something incomplete about Clive. He had something missing. I tried to convince myself it was about the War, but he was incomplete before. I could feel it, even if I had no way of knowing what it was exactly._

_Gradually, during these last two years, since he has been spending so much time in London with Robert, he began to change. He seemed happier. He began to look and sound contented, complete for the first time. He is complete now, just like I always wished he could be._

The Anne in the mirror looked triumphant _._

_I love him so much! All I want is to make him happy! Robert is as important to him as I am, as the children are. He needs it all and not just half._

Now, her reflexion seemed pensive, worried even. Maybe it was the right thing to do, but would Robert see it as she did? Would she find agreement on the other side?

_Robert is a fine young man. He is extremely devoted to Clive and I am convinced he would rather die than hurt Clive in any way. I believe he wants to leave because he fears his staying may ruin Clive, and he knows as well as I do Clive will never be able to make a choice. But there is no need for that. My husband loves him, but he doesn't love me less because of it. I actually feel he loves me more. I don't want to lose Clive, but I'd prefer losing him than forcing him to live a half life. Whatever he shares with Robert has never interfered in the life he shares with me and the children; there is no need to make it interfere from now on. I'll talk to Robert._

From the garden came Leslie's voice calling out to Jerry, and Irene's contagious laughter. She felt determined: her world would not crumble if it was in her hands to avoid it. She took a final glance at the other Anne. She looked completely taken aback by her own courage. Of course, there were the fine points. But did she really care, if it stood in the way of Clive's happiness?

_It's against the law? Who is going to know about it? If we kept it secret for almost two years, we can keep it for as long as it takes. Laws can be stupid, and laws change! It's unconventional? Of course it is, but what have conventions done for us? They have plunged us into that disastrous War, so maybe all we learned as right is not actually the right nor the best way to live our lives. I want us all to be happy. We deserve to be happy. We owe it to ourselves._

And turning her back on the mirror, she walked straight towards the service stairs.

*******

Anne knocked on the half open door. She could see Robert's hands folding his clothes. There was an open bag on the bed.

\- Yes...? - The voice sounded shaky, slightly tearful. Robert turned around and, seeing Anne, he wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand.

\- May I come in, Robert?

The young man sighed and pressed his eyes with the tips of his fingers before answering.

\- Yes, of course, ma'am...

\- There is something I have to talk to you about, Robert.

\- Yes, ma'am... - Robert hoped she wouldn't ask anything that would force him to lie. He liked Mrs. Durham and would hate to lie to her, but he would do it to protect Mr. Durham.

\- May we sit down?

The young man looked at her with a bewildered expression. Then, with a small sigh, he pushed the bag aside, to make room. Then he pulled a chair. Anne sat and gestured for Robert to sit too. He sat on the bed and waited.

\- I want to ask you to stay. My husband needs you.

Robert looked down, clearly embarrassed. He couldn't explain why he was going without endangering Mr. Durham. He felt bad because of Mrs. Durham; she had always been so kind to him, and had trusted him so! And now she was asking him to stay! He had betrayed her confidence in the end, and he felt evil. She had trusted him, and she didn't even know...

\- I believe I know why you want to go.

He looked up at her in disbelief. How could she know? How could a lady know such things?

\- Please, – she cut in before the boy was able to protest – please let me finish. This is not easy, and if I stop I may not be able to begin again. I am pretty certain I know why you want to go, I have known it for some time and, honestly, it does not bother me. Mr. Durham needs you and not only to bandage his shoulder or to be his trusted valet.

She paused for a few seconds, to allow Robert to take in what he had just been told. Also to allow her own heart to slow down a bit. These were difficult words for her to utter too, for she was sailing uncharted waters. Then, with a tentative smile, she went on, valiantly.

\- When I brought my husband home from the military hospital, he was so weak and broken I feared he might die. It took him years to heal, and I am not certain he has healed completely. Sometimes, I think he never will. But since he has you, he is almost his old self again, the man I met in Greece, the man I married. He needs you, Robert. You are good to him in a way I cannot be.

The young man lowered his eyes again and began to fold a handkerchief to keep his eyes down and his hands occupied. Anne went on.

\- I know no other words to tell this, but I believe you understand the full meaning of what I'm asking. It will have to be our secret, but we are both good at keeping secrets - she paused - Above all, if the the life and happiness of the person we love the most depends on it. You see, Robert, no one loves Mr. Durham as much as we both do.

\- No, ma'am, - he answered in a whisper - I believe no one does.

\- You love him very much, don't you Robert?

\- Oh, yes, ma'am! With all my heart...!

The boy's answer was so immediate and so earnest Anne knew she was doing the right thing.

\- I know he would be terribly unhappy if he was forced to leave me and the children. But, the thing is, Robert, he'd be equally miserable if he had to lose you. He is sitting in his study right now, looking as if his life has ended. We can work together because we both love him so much.

Robert's brown eyes were wide and full of tears that he was determined no to spill. He had been so sad with the idea of leaving. He was very fond of Mrs. Durham and the children, he loved working at Pendersleigh and had been completely satisfied with the last few years arrangement. Yet, he loved Mr. Durham enough to let go. It was breaking his heart, but he would do anything to ensure his wellbeing.

\- What I am about to ask of you is difficult. It's difficult for me and it will be difficult for you as well, but we have to try and do it. At least try, because I believe it is the only solution to guarantee Mr. Durham's happiness. All I want is to see him well and happy.

\- That's all I want for him too, ma'am...

\- I know. And we both know he can only be happy if he can keep both his lives. He needs me and the children, but he needs you as well. – Anne paused. She seemed to weight each of the next words she spoke – You were ready to go away so he wouldn't have to chose. You know he cannot chose, don't you?

Robert kept his eyes down, but he slowly nodded an affirmative. He knew Mr. Durham would never say the final word, he would keep quiet and suffer those terrible dreams, that tremendous guilt, for the rest of his days.

\- He means no harm, but he is not strong enough to do it. He feels guilty because he knows he's expected to chose, to do what's commonly believed to be the right thing, only it doesn't feel right to him... So we'll have to do that for him. - she searched for Robert's hand and squeezed it tight before going on – He's not strong, but we are. Do you think you can find it in your heart to share Mr. Durham with me and the children? To keep things just like they have been for the past two years? Will you stay?

Robert looked straight into the woman's eyes. She was meaning every single word, he could see that. She was asking him to stay. She was willing to have him care for her husband. She knew what they had together and was not outraged, nor disgusted, nor even jealous. What an amazing lady Mrs. Durham was! Was he going to be as strong as she was? He was not jealous, and he had always liked her. He loved the children. They were small and innocent, and they were Clive's children, how could he not love them? He fought the tears that threatened again to fall, though they were only tears of happiness now, and asked in a very low and shaky voice:

\- Shall I show you how to bandage Mr. Durham's shoulder, ma'am? So you can do it when he comes home for the weekend on his own? Would you like that?

Anne smiled, relieved and grateful, knowing exactly what she was beeing offered.

\- Yes, please, Robert. I would like that very much.

 


End file.
